~*~WINDS OF CHANGE~*~

written by ~Mysteria~


A simple sound of a creaking board in the floor,
Is suddenly replaced with a memory I want to fade,
Horrific, strong currents of wind race thoughts,
In mind's eye, triggering terrifying memories,
So fast - now the path to truth has been laid.

It is on days like this, I wish to be a good writer,
Able to sit down and write expressively
All the torment that is going through my heart.
The feelings so very strong and painful,
And somehow, I can’t even find the words to start.

Those silly rhymes start running around in my head,
I try to write quickly to get down to the pain.
I think of others who write and they never rhyme,
I have to really wonder sometimes, if the rhymes
Are what protect me, and keep me from going insane?

As long as I can remember, I could talk in rhyme,
To avoid pain simply a verse I would make.
The more sorrow I had and the older I got,
Those stupid little rhyming poems only became,
Easier for me, to soothe away sad heartache.

If it takes a poem in rhyme to write out this pain,
Then it is a rhyme that I am going to do.
I have to write sadness out, before I forget it all,
Today the flashbacks were so intense, not only one,
But like strong currents of wind in mind's eye,
A constant sting of bees the whole day through.

The abuse started early I even remember the crib,
And him coming to take me into his bed,
And as I grew older, nothing really changed,
Except that I only moved from a crib to
A pretty, big girl's bed instead.

He locked me in a cupboard for safe-keeping.
I was his amusement, just a sexual toy,
I would hold my breath whenever I heard that key.
My Mother was there; but didn’t seem to care,
She kept my teeth and hair always brushed.
See, he left her alone, and instead, came after me.

I'd tremble at the sound of his footsteps.
The key sounding in the keyhole,
Always made my little heart stop.
I remember as a child, holding myself,
All curled up so tight in a little ball,
Quiet, listening, waiting...waiting,
He whistled as he walked down our creaking hall.

I'd lie to get out of gym, as bruises,
Would show below my shorts,
Or they might catch a glimpse of my thighs.
I would hide in the locker room, so no one
Would see the burning tears welling up in my eyes.

As time passed, as time often does, I learned,
Meditation and how to shut off the sound,
Of the creaking floor that always haunted me.
I'd drift far away, rhyme out some words,
Dismissing the feel of him under my skin,
In my body, his smell, somehow it set me free.

One day my Mother bought me some china painted butterflies,
She said that one day the hurt, pain,
Anger, and memories would all be set free.
Just as the butterfly laid dormant in a cocoon,
She hoped “all this” didn’t do much damage to me.

Well it did! Damn it! It did!
Did anyone ever stop to think I was just a child?
I carried that anger, hate, guilt, and shame,
All through my life, forever being his hostage.
He stole without remorse, my heart and soul,
To this demon, I had been nothing more,
Than a toy, in what was a very sick game.

Believe it or not that childhood made me strong,
As that was only the beginning of what was to be,
A life of the purest, living hell.
But today, I remembered some of the things
That for over fifty years I totally disavowed.

Now the healing can begin, forgiveness I will see…
Do I forgive someone who stripped my identity?
Someone I hated in my heart for so many years?
I will look inside where my soul is hiding,
Learn to love it, and just like those butterflies,
Try to just be at peace and set myself free.


~*~ Mysteria ~*~
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All Rights Reserved


Graphics: Moon and Back Graphics