Caught in a whisper

 

You loved my

silence,

my puppy-like obedience.

The way I'd take

the hits, tail between my legs

and not raise a whimper.

I'd just wag and accept the dregs.

The way I'd let my voice simmer

like a shimmering mirror,

caught forever in a whisper.

Not letting my hurt bubble up

and froth over like a raging river.

 

You loved that I'd take

the autumn punches

and never take a fall

and then take you for lunch,

to placate it all.

 

You loved to hold me down

when I was destined to fly.

You loved to drive me around,

to make me lose my mind.

You'd lead me down

darkened winter roads,

to see if I'd find my way home.

 

I stayed quiet.

 

I settled for this, better than loneliness

I said through whispered tears,

I hid behind fear and

I never let my heart tear...

 

Not once.

 

Because I knew I'd need it again.

 

I knew.

 

Because I would give so much

and you took and took 

and took.

 

I gave so much.

 

Every splash of blood,

every drop of love,

every word I printed in my books.

and you kept on piercing me

with those hateful looks,

the stabbing words

you stuck in my guts.

Then cut me off

from the life I once knew.

Caught in a circling limbo

surrounded only by you.

 

I worshipped at your feet

as I crawled on hands and knees

over the eggshell shards laid out for me.

And you laid a welcome mat

for me to kneel and plead,

and our mattress a bed of nails

where dreams bleed into the spring.

 

Until I stopped looking back,

letting summer sunshine fill my sky

and I ran wild and free, happy

as I glanced back once again

and saw the shadows

of your soulless eyes becoming history.

The dance of rebirth

 

I have been building layers

unconsciously.

Pilling on defences,

worn in misery.

Slapping on barriers,

creating walls of skin that I feel

uncomfortable wearing.

I let them become weathered in.

Until I could no longer tell

the skin from the masking

membrane skeleton within.

 

But now I grip upon that surface,

and I tear, pulling away layers,

chunks of raw hurt. I take the good

and discard the dirt.

Keeping the lessons, and lessening the

moments of pure despair.

I feel the sting of skin pulling clear,

the ache of so many years...

 

Of neglect.

 

I strip. A piece at a time,

becoming lighter.

Feeling my limbs springing back

like a newborn lamb.

Tightened, by years of strain,

but easing in the warming rain

and the sunshine

that bursts down upon them.

 

On the ground,

so much discarded pain,

so many memories, dissolving fast

in the summer heat.

And in my heart a rhythm,

a song with a rising beat,

and now I can finally move,

I let myself dance.

Enjoying the way

the world feels

under my feet.

Skin suit mannequin

 

There is a photograph of me.

A child, always reaching out

for attention, desperate to be

something, anything, even if that

is just a failure to those around me.

 

I look into his eyes and whilst

the smile lies; I see sadness.

For the person inside

is unsure of the mask

behind which he hides,

but he can’t connect the lines,

the dots too wide apart,

the smile too high.

 

Now, the boy in the photograph

was never starved of affection.

He was loved, but he was a shadow

of who he felt inside, not the person

he should be, for he missed the love

that would have meant the most…

His own.

 

A skin suit on a mannequin.

Someone that couldn’t undress the costume

he had put on previously.

An outsider looking in, observing the scenery.

Wondering if anyone was watching

as he adjusts himself to reality.

 

And the photos keep coming,

appearing through foggy static.

Holidays by the sea, family.

All smiles, but memory speaks

in different tones. He remembers...

Alone. Being alone.

Always something

missing. A seed not yet sown,

a flower yet to grow.

Always a part that is hidden,

a place inside that hasn’t yet

been visited upon. A constant revision

of the portrait. As slowly the child hid away.

 

And he fought back tears,

sought answers he couldn’t

ever hope to find, looked

to others to help see

who was inside, but no one

could unprise the boy

from the false smiles in his eyes.

And he fell to lies, uncaring sneers

wrapped in delicate lines. He believed in love.

When love was away collecting fruit.

 

Until a sprinkling of bad fortune,

mixed with a desire to explore.

He sought through those

photographs once more,

and saw the love, the heart,

the smile underneath the false grin.

The person within the skin mannequin.

 

And now I reach more recent photos.

The man standing proudly

and the fog splitting around him.

Arms raised, mic to lips as if in silent praise,

a kiss whispered to the eaves.

As he speaks with a strength that

he had never known he had,

and the smile that he wears

will not become

faded.