Escapism

21

i never got bed time stories to lull me to sleep.

instead i, way too many times,
received so many heart breaking comments.

so much hateful and dehumanising words,
it could fill a book.

those were my stories.
not necessarily for the night time,
because there was always enough
to be told at all hours.

day in, night out,
my soul was wretched,
my energy drained,
my mind polluted.

i never looked forward to listening to them.
but it's not like had a choice.

so, i stood there quietly,
trying to make myself invisible,
fluttering my eyelids,
so that the moisture would go away.

my lullabies were never sweet, calming songs,
but their shouts and screams,
which never tasted as sweet as ice cream.

i never experienced the birds singing in the early hours of the morning.

"hush, hush..." were the only voices i heard.

morning sun's warmth?
all i ever knew was the warmth i received,
from a body that wasn't even mine.

a hand, often two,
invading my peace,
my space,
dancing on my skin,
trespassing deep within.