hospital poetry

five and

five and

five and

six and the raised hand’s silhouette in the doorway

seven and hiding somewhere dark and cozy

(“my parents are worse, do you know what they did?”)

seven and

nine and slamming doors and forced open jaws

(“tell me if this happens ever again.”)

nine and

ten and a lash across the face

eleven and arguments every day and mom sleeping on the couch her snoring uneven through the hallway

(“so, your mom is the issue?”)

eleven and dreaming of suicide

eleven and

twelve and darkened rooms and bright screens and disagreements and tears

twelve and forty cuts up and down dark arms and a heavy feeling all throughout a small body and yelling and doorways and 

(“all those in a tiny body covered with an innocent smile…go to your parents and tell them how you feel”)

twelve and

thirteen and

thirteen and dark rooms and sickness and anxiety inducing music

thirteen and oceans away from everyone else and fear and memories and memories and memories

thirteen and waking up in the middle of the night shaking 

(“okay…and?”)

thirteen and arms twisted behind backs and threat after threat

(“isn’t that abusive?”)

(“that’s so cruel…”)

(“just try harder to remember!”)

fourteen and

fourteen and late night walks to run and staying at school late out of fear and reading books on severe abuse

five and beaten with rulers

fourteen and every psychologist on the case and flashbacks but it isn't that bad, shaking and trembling when father walks in but he wasn't that bad, was he, was he

five and

("your parents love you, ruby, you're not trying hard enough")

fourteen and scouring forums on what to do now

("that's abuse! you have to call the police and keep yourself safe")

fourteen and in the hospital. mulling. mulling. mulling

fourteen and on a ledge

five and

five and

five and

(written feb 28, 2023)