Resilience, fight, the glory,
Does it ever get easier?
Do abused children ever recover from their pasts?
Will it always be a rotary off suffering and romance,
My stature, sturdy yet so weak,
How can I explain my nerves gave up on me after all those years of blinding screams,
How I would shudder and hide,
Use all furniture to lock the door so she wouldn’t enter
My shoulders locked in, heart closed off,
Body bent over in fear,
For years under attack,
Every inch of my body was screaming,
I wasn’t allowed to tell a soul what was happening,
Family told me respect and pride mattered more, than my battered body,
My mind, a holocaust,
In the end I was left with a hurricane of emotions,
Couldn’t hear a single word from her mouth without vomiting,
Now my body is paying for what I endured,
Body sings in her pain,
weeping, every limb hurts,
How do I explain this to elders or others?
Pathetic body of mine, abused body of mine,
How I pray freedom in your skin and suffering,
I always forget that it’s only been a few years since you have been free,
It takes another lifetime to recover from the hell you endured,
Even whilst in lush green,
In the heavenly mountains,
Your limbs remind you,
Of how she starved you of love.
Who do I tell,
And where do I go?
Those that knew all died,
Sometimes I wish I would leave also,
I am not made for this world,
Only a traveller.