Flashback

A twelve-year-old girl
Standing silently
Eyes hidden, by falling curls
Hands shaking uncontrollably
Saying over and over in her mind
“You know better then to cry
There is no tear in this home of mine”
Questions after questions
What should she reply
Do not give wings to her anger to fly
“Tell me what you have written!”
The yelling bringing confusion
Must keep focus, must answer a lie
The young girl’s voice is only a whisper
Hoping what she says will stop the blow
But the rage is already in the striker
And it hits hard in places that doesn’t show
The secret poem have been save in the memory
While the paper is torn in pieces, the pen broken
But her abuser doesn’t have her imagination
And the writer will keep on writing another story
She will even dare choose this language again
She doesn’t know why, it is just part of her creation

nightdream