Handcuffed

A Poem by AnayaJ.

A metaphorical piece: handcuffs being used to signify the helplessness some situations always throw people into.

Rapid heartbeat, blinding pain and woeful tears were what could be accurately referred to close to the feelings that had caged her existence. She knew the skin on her wrists would be designed with scars and gashes recklessly allowing the blood to leave her body when she will be released of the merciless grip of the handcuffs, leaving her pale and weak. A whimper escaped her lips as she attempted to break free of the rigid grip of the metal objects that held her wrists together, depriving her of the capability to defend herself, to escape from the situation that had so cruelly made her feel so helpless and defeated.

The slight buckle of her knees had alarmed her, threatening to collapse.The harsh grip signified nothing but how monstrously she had been crushed beneath the helplessness.She knew it was too early, she could not give up now, not so easily. She had to fight, she was well aware, and not only for her, but for the sake of the existence of the contentment of everyone she loved and everyone who was the cause of her salvation. They did not know that she was trapped, a sign that her efforts of making her smile as genuinely delightful as possible were paying off. The fabricated curve of her lips had triumphantly covered her gripped wrists with a sheath.

She knew it was for the better, that burdening them with the weight of her rising helplessness would be of no avail and no one would try to piece her back together if her heart collapsed, if her strength finished. She is strong, she told herself. She could fight her wars, she could rescue herself; breaking down her walls would only cause her to build higher ones. She had to fight.

Finally, she felt the grip around her wrists loosen, the pain had slightly reduced in intensity. The ruthless situation she had found herself in had been ended because of her helpless, yet hopeful struggles. When her wrists were completely freed of the grip, she held them close to her eyes, examining each and every scar that had formed around them. Sighing heavily, knowing that this freedom was short-lived and that these scars and the aching memories will last forever, she began walking, limping and tripping along the way. And before she stepped out of the cellar, she put on the most important accessory: a charming smile to obscure the agony.