Pity the child who sees it all, yet mute –
Too little to speak with words to convey
What her expressionless, poker face reveals,
A clear story which has yet to be told, but when?
No one hears her silent screams,
She’s learned to muffle her world with
A tear stained pillow and broken pacifier –
No one sees the little girl who tugs
Anxiously on wisps of her dirty blonde hair
All while she attempts to seek her own version of
Living happily ever after with fantastical fairy tales
Forever ending in epic failure – a classic ruse.
She’s proficient at learning how to self soothe,
Almost hypnotic, she’s become numb to the
Anomaly of such a toxic home –
Nightly she sits in her room, in her crib,
Away from them –
She doesn’t sleep, instead chooses to remain
Somber, aware, and silent while the pair continue a
Never ending boondoggle across the hall –
And so it goes…nightly…until the quiet comes.
Exhausted, she peers from her crib through the
Cracked doorway to survey the aftermath
And destruction created by the monsters –
Blind and oblivious, the parents continue to ignore
The most important damage they’ve caused, leaving
Behind an internal war zone filled with ruins irreparable.
Pity the child…