my house was destroyed by
the hand of a man who could not breathe
on his own
burgled of peace and caught off beat
i was frozen there
staring at broken picture frames
and upturned sofas wondering what to do
with the remains of broken love
stuck
in a cyclone of stained sheets
and shattered plates
with no way to escape
so i sat where i stood
in the midst of the disarray
flooded by the disgrace
of the overwhelming frustration of not locking the door
when i had the chance
crying, "how could i let this happen?"
but i did it right this time
the chain bolted on tight
i can hear the handle jingle from my spot
a lot has changed since that night
my space is cleaner now, free even
he wouldn't recognize me if he tried
and i know he still sees me like i was back then
a scared girl of only sixteen
wanting to learn how to live again
but he doesn't know how exhausting it is
to clean up a mess that was never yours
to lock a door that was never opened before
the banging rings in my ears
as i sit where i once stood silently
to wait out this invasion of privacy
ESTÁS LEYENDO
abstraction distraction
Poesíaab·strac·tion - /abˈstrakSH(ə)n/ the quality of dealing with ideas rather than events. dis·trac·tion - /dəˈstrakSH(ə)n/ a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else.
