You act,
Like you know,
What happens behind closed,
Doors and curtains,
Pulled tightly shut,
Hiding and obscuring,
All that lies inside,
From view.

You don't,
You put on a show,
Of vicious pretend,
Or make believe,
To fool those around you,
Into believing you know,
Believing you know,
Know what happens,
Behind closed window shades.

You don't,
In here,
It's eat or be eaten,
In here it's every one for themselves,
In here it's creep about,
Quiet as a mouse,
Don't you dare wake up,
Wake up the creepy crawlies.

In here,
Walls are boundaries,
Unmarked,
Each one for his own,
In here they are all,
All that seperate,
The violence and peace.

Some days are good,
We eat dinner as a family,
Forks clinking against dishware,
There is little talking,
No one brings up their day though,
Pictures hang on pale blue walls,
That remind us of better times,
We sit at a large table,
Swallowing buttery noodles,
The cheap kind,
They taste like cardboard,
Add some salt and they go down,
It's the cheap brand,
Because he lost his job again,
Although no one will say that.

Mom will work extra shifts,
To come up with money,
So the lights stay on,
She's stressed,
So are we.

Some days are not so good,
Sometimes it's so loud,
You can't hear yourself think,
Sometimes you want to run away,
How far would you make it,
Not far enough,
Never far enough,
Sometimes he'll come home,
Drunk and angry,
Sometimes she won't do the dishes,
Days like that we don't eat dinner,
Not together,
Not at all,
Dinner never gets made.

Days like those,
The TV is silent,
So is the radio,
The porch door never slams,
It's quiet,
Here.

You don't know,
That in days like those,
I creep about,
Like mice scurrying,
Because I am afraid,
To meet the belt,
Or a fist,
I am afraid to go to bed hungry again.

When night comes,
I can't close my eyes for long,
The shadows for legs and arms,
I am scared,
So I sit up,
Afraid of what lies in the dark,
Images of blood,
Splattered across the kitchen floor,
Stain my mind,
Like the wine stain from my mother,
It happened in September.

She never wore that sundress,
Or another again,
In the dark,
Memories leak in,
Like inky black tendrils,
Of fear,
Of gasping on the porch,
The stinging,
The burning sensation,
That covered my abdomen,
Of bloody fingers,
Reaching for too far away door knobs,
Of hiding,
Holding my breath,
So I won't be heard.

You don't know,
That inside that house,
There was anger,
There was hate in the worst,
Inside that house,
Everyone played sides,
No one spoke secrets,
Or painted each other's toes nails,
Inside that house,
Where happiness once ran the halls,
Echoed back nothing but sobs.

That place,
Was a cage,
Meant for us,
Birds of a feather,
Thrown in there,
Wild animals,
Reverting back to cave like instincts,
Flash backs of EMTs and ambulances,
Haunt me,
Flashbacks of drugs taunt me,
I see blue lined bed sheets,
Their worn,
Old and weather by time,
They too are stained with tears,
Sweat and blood.

I see,
A little girl,
Crying in the shower,
I feel the burn,
Of the blade go over my skin,
Relief,
I was raised with wild,
Wild animals,
I don't blame them,
But they have rules they played,
Now as I walk,
In the shoes,
Of an adult,
I can't help,
But look over my shoulder,
Am I safe.

You don't know,
About how I,
Had to wake up early,
To put make-up on the bruises,
Girls that age,
Weren't to be seen with make-up on,
I was.

I don't know if they knew,
Those teachers,
If they did,
They never said a word,
I wore long sleeves,
Sweat pants even in the summer,
I didn't go swimming,
I didn't do gym class,
I didn't wear shorts,
I came home,
I didn't complain.

I kept my mouth shut,
Most of the time,
When I didnt,
I remembered why I bit my tongue,
All of those times,
Shame it burns,
In that back of my throat,
My body ached,
You don't know,
What it was like,
Growing up in that house,
A house of animals,
A pack that would ,
Only turn on the weakest link,
Now they know,
Why I am so strong,
Weak I will never be again.






© @DestinySnyder