cw: domestic abuse

Despite being a girl,
I’ve always liked
video games
with the

bright colors,
challenges,
stories, and
heroes.

I used to prefer books
as I had more imaginary freedom
over the characters and scenery
until I learned my mom was screaming for him to stop.

But really,
the sound effects in video games
are amazing.
I feel like I’m my character!

Moreover, the music
for this game
makes me feel like
I really can save the world.

If I can save
their world,
then why can’t I
save ours?

I’ll study well,
make a vaccine,
save endangered wildlife from extinction,
solve world hunger.

I want to be a nameless hero
just like my favorite characters
who do it simply out of responsibility
instead of fame or fortune.

If I just
leave
my bedroom…
Can I really do anything

if I can’t even
save
my mom
from one man?

"Save the galaxy by…"
My character chimes.
No!
I’ll do it this time.

I’m done being a little kid.
I’ll save her.
But
how?

No book
video game
or class
has taught me how to save my mom.

The feelings
are returning now.
Dread, agony, and disgust materializes
as I recognize my face in the mirror.

Silence.
There is no character theme
if I disregard the sound of my mom crying.
Instead, I observe the boring figure in the mirror with no sharp angles or colors.

He left when I was deep within the pool of self-loathing,
claiming he’d get himself something to eat
as us women haven’t prepared food for weeks,
shelves bare.

When I leave my room for the first time in days,
my mom greets me with a smile,
pretending like she wasn’t just crying.
“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Sweetheart,” she says, voice wavering.
I can smell him on her.
“Do you mind making him food to eat?”
“No.” I reply as I peer into the empty cupboards.

Guilty

I point
And three fingers
Pointing back at me

Memories
Not forgotten
Even though I plea

The knives,
They are calling
Yet I still don't bleed

No point in my destruction
Since I cannot feed them

Sharp blades
Evade
My self destruction

Afraid
To pay
For loss of function

Every
New day
Is a new problem

Cut me off
(Save me!)

I'm coming out
I'm caving in
Tell me do you like me now
Let me begin

By burning all the cradles
Uninstall the training wheels
Enstrangement's just a label
And I don't give feels

(I cut me off
I shut you out
I'm caving in
Do you like me now?

Not good enough
I've never been
Disconnection
I'm the alien)

displeased to report all my attempts
proven unsuccessful

the poetry that forms yet mocks, gloriously,
all things that which avoidance was intended,
this stuffing,  too tough to swallow, just surfaces ******* me,
appears unMasked, pushing, bullying to the head of the line

my will contravened, and now in review, poems suspected,
poetry was a wonderful, grand failure, to wit, escaping to
the fore, were the very words from which I sought relief, they,
didn’t escape my view, so when imprisoned, they were damning

words that arose from the gullet gorge, as you can espy verily,
verified words of little value, no truth, these them are the ones
I’ve come to despair + despise, hurtful to my eyes,
my escape not merely in vain, but rocks hurled, so my escape foiled*

myself,  
beneath buried

The world is silent but my thoughts are so loud.

My body aches from being forced to be still.

My hair is greasy.

From day to day I fluctuate in everything.

Forcing myself to present an image to others so I can be left in solitude.

I long to run, to be wild, to escape. To push myself until I can’t breathe and my body heaves and I feel more accomplished in a few moments than I have in months.

I want to go to the beach. Lay in the sand, let the waves crash on the shore and soothe my mind and soul.

I want my creativity to come back.

I want to love.

Someone once said I was a fanatic of escapism
That I would never find peace if I never stopped moving
But let me ask you;
Can you name a creature that doesn't move?

Trees grow
They shake with the wind, and shower all below them with leaves
Further cementing their carved throne as the elders of our planet

Mushrooms, dogs, lizards, fish
I could name creatures and organisms that 'move' for days
I could give you a fact about each of them
And teach you why darwinism has blessed that specific species with its touch

They said I'm an escapist
Someone who runs from trouble and problems
Or maybe from life itself
Or maybe in circles
I say
When you're a pine tree in a green house there is no such thing as escapism

There's drive to live and acceptance of demise
The only two forms of black and white that's even remotely close to the chessboard you're picturing
My drive to live isn't escapism

So when my branches break your windows,
When my canopy and height topples this ceramic plated greenhouse,
Dont you dare say it was an escape attempt.
I didn't escape. I didn't even leave.
I did as a pine tree does
And I Grew.