Catching the Scream

I stood outside the world
to learn the truth,
it’s a stacked deck
and for every good father
there are three like Lot
making comfort women
of their daughters.

When my Lot came
it wiped me away,
in my place a blank statue
and the cloth of me
somewhere else.

Atop this frozen figure
- the birds of my voice
scattered into oblivion -
an empty cage.
A wire mouth rusted shut.

I can’t speak it
but I wrap around the pen
and write. With my words
I’ll make a fist.
In childhood diaries
between the blue pansies
and stickers, abbreviated
in notebooks, outlined in emails,
I see the shape of it forming.

I’m not there yet but soon
I’ll write my body back
to catch those birds
and then you’ll hear
my childhood screams.

Published by sarcasticfringehead

I'm an adult survivor of child abuse who documents therapy; a yellow brick road to hell.

2 thoughts on “Catching the Scream

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