You were ten when we first met.
You were fighting with your sister for me
I was the bigger room
It was always about bigger things – better things
Younger ones are like that among your kind
You were no different
But my four walls were never enough
At ten years nothing is enough
It was the first home you owned – all four of you
“You can scribble in these walls”, your father said
Admit it though
You were still scared of sleeping alone in your bed
I was there
When you father told your mother, she was a terrible cook
You wondered why you loved everything she made
But You kept quiet
He was more important to please
So you became his perfect little girl
I saw him, so did you
But you let your silence win
Each time he raised his hand
Your father was always right, right?
Your sister had made a mistake in math
She “deserved” the punishment
I was there
When you were angry coz your sister wouldn’t come out and play
She is being a snob, you told yourself, why else?
I knew why
Back then you didn’t know the meaning of rape, neither did she
Little girls aren’t supposed to
I saw you learning every prayer your father taught
You were perfect in your efforts of winning him
I was there
When he decided to leave the house for 3 years
He left to buy you a better life
I saw you miss him everyday
I saw her –
Your mother fighting your teenage self in vain
Your sister becoming the man of the house
She bravely chased the rats away
She was always your knight
Her armor would never grow a chink
I saw your mother confide
She wrote in her diary
“Am I a bad mother?”
At the age of 11, you had made her wonder
Were your lies her fault?
You may’ve been a child but you weren’t easy
You invented stories by the day
Yet you were scared they’d come alive at night
I saw you read your sister’s suicide letter
She had torn it up and thrown it away
You walked outside her closed room that night aching to hear her breathe
You heard her move about and then you went to sleep
At 14, you’d wake up in darkness every night
You’d see a shadow on your doorway
You were not really scared of a nightmare
You were just curious as to why you cherished them some nights
The shadow wouldn’t say anything
It just stood there – a silhouette of a woman
You left me when you turned 17
By now even the house wasn’t enough
You were angry at everything
Angry at your mother for her silence
Angry at yourself for yours
Angry at your sister for not being angry enough
I lost you for a while
You slept without dreams and nightmares for 10 years
You grew up
You brought up your heart
You trained it to forget the fights, the beatings, the masochism of it all
You grew out of the anger
You stashed your pain away in boxes
You only shed tears for your friends
Your own sorrows didn’t deserve them
Your sister was still your knight inside your temple for Athena
She’d passed on her armor to you
There was no room for weakness now
And here we are
You are 30 years old
You peeping into me from the doorway
You fear the darkness inside
You think you see her – the ghost of a memory – that 14-year-old girl
You wish you could tell her
It’s not you, dear girl
It was never your fault
You see that’s why you were never scared of nightmares!
You know now
These shadows at the edge of the doors are just pictures of you years from now
Now you wonder why that silhouette stayed in the dark?
You didn’t know then what you’d look like now
You didn’t know then you’d forgive
That you’d promise to fight for your sister when no one fights for her
That you’d promise strength to your mother when she’s crumbling
That you’d promise forgiveness to your father when he’s lonely
Above all, you promise tears for yourself
I see you
You’re a woman, a little rough around the edges but mostly nice
You – you look beautiful
I see you
You were my child too, if only walls could talk
I’d say I’m proud, dear child
I’m proud!
This is absolutely heartbreaking. I am so sorry you went through this. You are very brave for sharing your story and for moving forward with your life. I love how you tell the story from the perspective of the room – very creative and adds to the depth of the poem. Keep writing. Keep speaking. Much love – speak766