One room and an abundance of stories.

the girl has long yellow hair

it matches her mothers

whose hands are

threading the curls of

her daughter’s’ hair.

she sits with a laid back smirk

smacked onto her face

beneath it i see the the

hurt she hides so well

the tiredness that sleep

cannot give in one dose.

blue eyes gone black at midnight.

absently awake, appearing

to be here without fear.

though her father’s mistakes

are a lived nightmare.

a fathers anger is

a battlefield of its own nature.

 

That girl has brown eyes that hide

behind black eyeshadow

and sparkling eyeliner.

her mouth has been stapled shut.

that girl hides behind clothing

her skin has been carved

with shame and self hate.

she speaks in spanish to her father

speaking fluently in a language

we don’t understand.

 

we are all speaking a language

that they don’t understand.

 

This girl

she sits beside her mother and father

with a mouth of a firecracker.

Me, I sit. Quiet and patient.

on a good day

ill give away a smile to

each person in the room.

as if to say it’s okay

I nod. Speak, if i must.

I cry. I share because i have to

open these wounds without bleeding.

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