From the confines of my closet I place my hands up against the wall, feeling it pulsate under my touch.

The cigarette smoke has fried my eyes and I long to close them.

I find I am holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. 

Then the sound of breaking glass jolts me back to reality.

I cannot help her.

She’s running past my room, looking for a place to hide.

“Help me” she yells out, but how the hell can I?

I am of no help; my voice is stricken, unable to move, unable to breath.

I sit silent until all is quiet.

Then I emerge; like dawn on a new day, with my mask of nothingness shielding me

from the reality of my life; and I help pick up the pieces of her shattered existence and

this thing she calls her life.

My life.

Wanting things to be different, praying for strength, for hope, for a miracle that never comes.

Waiting for him to die so we can live again, free from his grasp, free from his demonic looks and harsh discipline.

This woman who bore me lays lifeless on the couch, words cannot reach her.

She is beyond reasoning.

He’s marked her face and shattered her very core.

Her existence means nothing to her, she feels unloved, trapped and worthless.

I can not carry her; I can not make her leave.

She will never leave.

Where is my mother?

My tower of unyielding strength?

This man is not my father.

A stranger.

A foreign body laying his hands on my mother, I cannot imagine worse.

I am waiting for the day when all will cease.

That day is yet to come; I cannot foresee it, not for some time yet.

How do you repair yourself when your spirit is broken?

How many times do you think you can run and hide?

There were many houses and false new beginnings, but the cycle remains imbedded in

our destiny and once again I find myself crouching in a dark corner with my hands

over my ears.

Make it stop.

I see the world through different eyes; eyes of someone who has had no choice but to grow up quickly and harshly.

My childhood was taken from me without my consent, painfully and violently.

It doesn’t matter how I got here, or why.

The fact remains that I am here and I will make a difference.

We are all truly alone in this world, no matter how close we think we are with someone.

Be it family or loved one, no one can ever know how we feel inside.

What we aspire to be, who we are, what colour our soul is.

All our dreams and all our wishes are secret and private.

Only to be brought out and thought about from time to time.

My mother tells me I take after her, that I have a strong will.

She says I won’t age with worry, but I don’t think she knows just how much she’s aged me…