(World War 3)
Dark sunglasses
Long-sleeved tees
Mommy, brusies fade
but fear builds
and the pain remains
words can kill.
I see it in your eyes
and hands fly with fury.
You hide from him.
I pretend I don't see.
I pretend I don't hear.
I know I'm a witness to World War 3.
Right before my eyes
you're thrown around
and beat down.
You cower and cover
yourself in Maybelline
and his gullible lies.
Find the strength, Mom.
Find your courage.
I know it's somewhere
inside of you...
Reach deep into the darkness;
find yourself.
Reach out.
Find arms to hold you.
Find words to calm you; comfort you, not devestate you.
Fight back
if not for yourself...
for me
I'm tired of seeing
the battles of World War 3.
Things are getting a lil easier each day. I'm doing good in school and I love my classes, especially Creative Writing. I love to write, but I'm nervous about my first assignment which is to write a personal narrative about why I like writing, what type of books I like to read, my favorite authors, etc. No one really knows why I write the way I do (I write in a diary everyday) and I don't really know if I'm ready to open up to my teacher yet...
When I was little, my dad used to abuse my mom, my brother, and me. I witnessed him physically, verbally, and mentally abuse her; it wasn't until I was older that I found out he'd sexually abuse her as well. I used writing to escape the life I was given and created new identities for myself where I wouldn't have to watch my mom suffer or feel my dad's wrath of anger. When my mom finally gathered enough courage to divorce him when I was in 7th grade, I felt so much anger towards my mom. I always wanted her to leave my dad, but I felt like it was too late. I mean I was half-way through school; I felt like she should just stick it out. It wasn't until I was in an abusive relationship that I finally realized how hard it actually is. During that relationship, I seriously think I got Carpal Tunnel Syndrome because I wrote so much. I had so much fear, anger...every emotion possible built up inside and I used paper and pencil to lash out. Now, I look at writing as a coping mechanisim. It's my way to handle a bad day or a break-up or a fight with my best friend...it's a part of me. I write until I can't see from tears, or when my hand feels like it's about to break. I just don't know if I want a complete stranger to know this about me...I feel like she'll feel sorry for me and that's not what I want. I don't regret anything from my past because it's made me who I am today. I wouldn't change it for anything. It's who I am...it's a part of me.
Maybe I'm overreacting...but either way I have to do the assignment and I always do my assignments the right way. Guess I'm just going to have to explain everything to her and ask her to not judge me or my life. I guess I'll give her the ultimatium-- Love me or Hate me, either way I'm me. Take it or leave it.
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