Unwritten

The wise old creature
Who lives atop a tree.
All the forest creatures
Scamper to Him in need.
With a mysterious call
He is believed by all,
None the wiser of what He said.

Silence envelopes the air.
Missing voices heavy,
An echo of remembrance.
Sound trapped in throat.

Her voice has been stolen.
She did not ask for silence.
They say it is a choice,
But for her it is not.

For the paon she feels
Strangkes her voice and
Takes away her words.

She looks silently upon
Her surroundings.
She watches, listens,
Observes the human race.

She sees what we cannot.
She hears what we miss
When we are speaking.
For she has no voice of her own,
No diistraction from objectiveness.

Detachment:
That is what silence is,
What silence becomes,
What the silent feel.

For a while she thought it was
Good
Right
Helpful.
But now she feels the heaviness
In the air,
And the tightness
In her throat.
And so she knows that
Detatchment is:
Lonliness
Destruction
Death.

So she sat there,
In the court room.
They all figured she wouldn’t
Speak,
Wouldn’t reveal with her voice
What happened to her„ and
Who did it,

Yet she realised
Silence
Wasn’t the answer, but
Wasn’t a choice either.
Silence
Is an obstacle. 
The sound must be
Forced out.
So she rose to her feet,
Dizzy with decision.
“He did it. He raped me.
My father raped me.”

For once in her life
The silence that followed was
Sweet.
The room was filled with
Disbelief and awe,
With pride.
She stood up for herself,
She defeated silence.
She had won
And her
Silence
Had been slain.

From that day on
Silence
Was a choice.
She choose
Silence,
It did not choose her.
And so with those
Ten words
She saved herself.

Silent Song
That calls within.
A room that’s filled
With voices thick.
Through the noise
A child sings.
No one hears.
No one hears
The silent song.

Beauty blooms
In the dark.
Nighhttime hiding
Quietly.
All alone
A child smiles.
No one sees.
No one sees
The beauty bloom.

Rain drips down my face.
“How are you doing dear?”,
The smile asks me.
“Good”, I lie.
I want to scream
‘I’m not good! I’m terrible—
I’m depressed!’,
But I supress my screams
And pass the smile, who
Chirps a staisfied
“Good”.

Tears swell inside me.
I wait for them to fall,
To pour out.
I wait for someone to
Notice the impending
Flood.
—Nothing—
Nothing falls,
Pours.
No one notices
The imagined
Flood.

So here I sit.
Drowning.
My head reels and
Spilts
Open, spilling invisible tears.
I stand and the world
Shifts.
“I’m dizzy”
“Sit down” commands a
Voice.
I listen to him, sinking
Into my chair,
Grateful
Someone cares.

The smile, the voice
They care
But they don’t
Know.
Why
Don’t I tell them?
Why
Don’t I scream?
Why
Do I allow myself to be
Trapped?

A smile, a voice.
Can anyone change my
Inclination?
My inclination to say
“Good”.
My inclination to
Lie.
My inclination to stay
Silent.

Rain drips down my face
And I wish it were my
Tears.
I allow the rain to
Flood
While my cheeks stay
Dry.
But one day my
Tears will be the
Rain
Dripping down your face
And you’ll wish they were
Your tears.
And I’ll smile and speak, but never
Know.
And so the cycle goes. 

They are not ours

How could they be?

But they are

They surely are.

How could they not?

The life growing inside

A life not yet

A life not yet met

A life still we love

Perhaps the child

Was not yet a child

Perhaps there was

No pain

No emotion

No despair

Perhaps there was

Nothing to be missed

Still,

A stone

Weighs down

Our bodies

And crushes

Our hearts

Months of preparation

Months of expectance

Months filled with

Excitement

Lead

To

Moments

Moments of loss

Moments of agony

Moments filled with

Lost love

I woke up this morning
Like I’ve done every morning
These past six months:
With an evergrowing belly
Confronting me with my past.

You’d think someone would have
Noticed
Or cared
But my foster parents do not.

They are the “okay” foster parents:
The “not terrible”,
“not great” kind.

I guess in that way I am both
lucky and
unluky.
They don’t love me,
but they don’t lock beat me.
They don’t care where I go,
But they don’t lock me up.
I’m not more than money to them,
But the money is enough.

As I lie here, I can’t help
But remember the
Nurse.
The kind nurse who
Helped
Me when no one else would.

She was the one who
Told me the
News.

She said I could stay the night
To learn the test results
(and to sleep somewhere safe).

I never thought the morning would
Bring such life-shattering news,
But it did.

And it was she who held me when
I cried for my past pain
I cried for my forlorn future
I cried for the baby inside me,
His baby.
No.
My baby.

Upon arrival
I felt overwhelmed.
Inside of me the world was
Still,
Quiet,
Mute and numb.
In contrast my surroundings, which
Bustled
Loudly,
Penetrating my senses.
The feeling, I imagine, would resemble
The experience a
Ghost or
Spirit
Would have, if she or he
Returned
Here, to this earth
Bursting
At the seams with
Life.
I glid forward
Through the crowd and
Chaos
With quiet eyes I peered
Into the head nurse’s
Soul
She seemed disturbed
—Although,
I admit my solemn pain
Was probably more
Frightening than my gently
Penetrating eyes.
She showed me to a bed
And asked me to sit.
I flinched at the
Comforting
Hand she laid on my arm
Concern flashed in her eyes:
She knew.

I will not divulge the rest;
For that night he launched
A full-blown
Invasion
Conquering my capital city
My troops defenseless
Against his siege
In retrospect not much time
Passed
But it felt surely like an
Eternity
In hell
And afterwards I lay
Numb
Curled in a fetal position,
Dried tears
Caked on my cheeks.
He got up and left.
It was nothing to him,
Waging war was
Mundane
Average, normal, casual.
I was just one of many
Victories
To him, so he left
I do not know how long
I lay there paralysed
Eventually I gathered up the
Strength
To lift myself and with
Robotic
Movement walk out of the room,
Down the stairs,
Out the door.
I walked and walked,
My mind stained black.
Finally logic got the
Better of me
And I found myself
Walking to the
Hospital.

He told me it was too loud
That he wanted to be
Alone
With me—to talk, he
Insisted.
So up the stairs I stumbled
With one helping hand cradling
My elbow and another
Supporting my back
He found a black and silent room
Fear glowed within me
But I was drunk, so
With a wave of my rag-doll arm
I swept away the
Warning.
He held me close
I gazed groggily into his
Beautiful green eyes
Time stood still
Until he shattered it.
He launched his attack
(Part of a strategic invasion)
Lurching forward and—
Kissing is too wonderful a word
To describe his action,
However
I do not know of an alternative.
Perhaps no one ever dreamed
There to come a time in
Which a wonderful word
Was all that existed to describe a
Horrid
Attack on a lost girl unprepared
I attempted to push him away
The way a stubborn child
Nudges
Away the parent that denies their
“Joy”
He laughed.
An evil smile crept up
Devouring
The spot where the
Delicious
Smile had once been
Soft moonlight
Seeped in from the single
Window
Under alternate circumstances
I might have smiled
The gentle hue always had
A way of bringing beauty to
Things, or occasionally
Distortion.
If I had not been
Frightened
I certainly would have
Laughed
At the grotesque features
Of his face, as if he
Wore a mask meant for
A demonic circus clown.
I would have
Laughed
At this atrocious sight
At the distortion of his
Magical
Features—a distortion
That revealed the horror
Behind the illusory
Façade.
I would have
Laughed
If my voice had not been
Trapped,
Buried in my chest
Aching
To escape.

I don’t know how he did it
But he did.
He got me drunk.
He managed to
Hand me drinks
As I talked and
Cried,
And being as
Naïve
And trusting as I am,
I took them and stupidly
Drank
Them up and before long I was
Drunk.
And he just smiled
Deliciously,
Preparing me,
Setting me up,
Waiting
Patiently
For optimal
Success.
I should have known
Then and there
(Or rather: earlier).
We weren’t falling for each other
We were fighting a
War.
And he was
Winning.
Perhaps he has
Won.