Silent Screams

It is a whisper, it is a scream, it is something in between.

It is a hand, a fist, a belt, a strap, a hot voice filled with hate and anger.

"You are bad.[horizontal ellipsis]always bad[horizontal ellipsis]. You must be punished to make you good."

Eternities of bads, quicksands of fear and terror forever and a day.

Beatings and violent words

make my dreams terrors,

erase trust,

drain hope from the soul,

play tricks with my mind.

I scream inside my head that it is a[horizontal ellipsis]

Dark World

And I talk to myself.

It is meant to be this way. I am bad. I always do something wrong.

I need to be helped through pain.

I need to be in the dark world, the world of hurts and bruises and cutting words.

I wonder what will set the dark side off today?

Who will punish me?

Who will let it happen?

Will it be my mother? My father? My foster parent? My boyfriend?

Will it be a shove into a wall?

A strap to make me behave in public so I "will grow up right."

Will it be the fist because I came too close?

Or the quick hard slap because I

talked too much,

looked the wrong way,

hung out with the wrong people?

Will I curl up in a ball, fall, and be kicked and kicked and kicked?

Will my dark world let me find any[horizontal ellipsis]

Places to Hide?

I will find a place.

I can run and lock myself in the bathroom

but

then the door will be kicked down.

I will run away[horizontal ellipsis]

but

I will be found.

I will tell someone who can help[horizontal ellipsis]or will they?

Who could I tell?

No matter where I go

or any person I think I could confide in

the one constant is the[horizontal ellipsis]

Fear

for I am too little to tell,

they are my parents.

I am too frightened to tell,

he is my husband or boyfriend.

I am too frightened to tell because

I will have nothing then and

I have something now.

I find comfort in my[horizontal ellipsis]

Secret Thoughts

Maybe life is not so bad after all.

I know I am loved-why else would anyone do these things to me?

I can keep this a secret.

I will hide my bruises-explain them away as clumsy accidents.

Bad words don't hurt my body.

I can live with this or will I always have a

Fear of the Future?

Will it get worse?

How much can I take?

Why would I tell anyone what happened?

If the policeman or nurse or teacher finds out about the really bad things

I keep secret and cover up with clothes and makeup

the telling will prove how bad I am and

the helper people might get me in more trouble.

If I scrunch up my mind

I bury the bad times

remember the good times

and

then I do not have to ask[horizontal ellipsis]

Questions in Search of Answers

Who can I trust?

Is there a world for me without fear, pain, and secrets?

How will I ever know what to do?