Hurt but not broken.

Without love, without respect
he came for me.
I remember every second; 
a crystal clear picture in my mind,
as if it was yesterday.
I lay on the ground,
ear to the smooth wood, 
trying to hear the voices that speak in hushed tones,
just past my bedroom door.
The night goes on.
There were footsteps, and then a knock.
“Take her,” were the words of my father;
his last words to me, the very last.
Not a sound came out of my mouth.
I understood what was going to happen to me:
it was time.

He pushed me through the door,
my stubby fingers reaching for your hand,
but it was too far.
Your cries ring out;
they pierce through the air.
A slap,
and the cries heard no longer.
Tears form crystals on your cheeks, 
they drop down your face,
onto the silk blouse you hold so dear to your heart.
They stand out like splotches of paint
on a piece of blank white paper.

I left you that night,
I left everything:
the warmth of my bed as I slipped under the covers each night,
the sizzling of fried eggs 
and the drip drop of the coffee brewing in the mornings,
the friendly smell of the house as I stepped through the door.
Your face was the last thing I saw in that house.
Not the mailbox carved into the door,
or the full-length mirror that hung on the wall.
But you, my last memory.

Now a new home waits for me
to return to the safety of its shelter every day.
It waits for me to come home,
to walk on its tile floors 
that send shivers up my spine.
It waits for me to use its kitchen,
and sleep in its beds,
to gaze out its windows,
and enjoy the comfort of the living room
as I talk to family and friends.
But I do not enjoy it. 
I do not enjoy my life here. 
I do not enjoy the constant thoughts buzzing through my head;
wondering when I will get out,
wondering if I will get out.

The rugs lay waiting for me,
ready to comfort my fall
when the fire ignites inside of him.
I make a mistake, and bam!
A slap hits me hard across the face.
I want to stop it, but I am afraid.
I am afraid of what he will do to me;
it might only make matters worse.
I am reminded of you;
of the days when I was a child.
I watched you toil and sweat
From dusk ‘til dawn,
never without a smile between those full, rose-colored cheeks.
But when he came home
and stepped through those doors,
tears streamed down your face;
they streamed down mine.
I could do nothing. 
I could say nothing.
Those were the rules.

For years on end I have lived this life,
like an ignored servant girl
waiting for her master to call for her.
I didn’t even smile as I walked down the aisle.
I frowned, dreading the moment 
when I would become his slave,
the wedding bells masked by the sound
of an auctioneer’s gavel hitting the podium 
after a sale has been made.

The kitchen window never goes a day without 
staring at the eyes of a daydreamer,
who peers out through the thick film of dirt 
that has formed on the window-pane over the years.
I dream of the day when I can leave this place;
The walls concealing me from the world
just outside the door.
Things are happening,
The times are changing.
He can’t keep me in here forever.
For years I have waited for you, 
I have waited for you to come. 
You have not come yet.
But I will find you.
Yes momma, that is my promise.
To find my way back to your loving arms,
to the smell of your perfume 
as I wake up each morning,
your comforting words ready to shower down on me 
in times of trouble and despair.

Now I stand here with you,
holding your hand as the sun sets,
the pearly white gates shining in the distance
that will forever welcome people into their home.
I have found you momma, 
I have found you.
And I will never let you go again.