Eleven Mondays.

Not a beaten, broken child
Not a victim of abuse
Never saw my daddy drink
Never felt his fierce fist.

No ghostly memory in my past
Except that one…
…and that’s not so bad

Screaming from shadows cast aside
The sun drifts away from where I hide
Such darkness echoes through these halls
Such painful reminders upon its walls


Such life I seemed to once portray
Such naivety begging to be betrayed
Weaving ghosts call out my name!
Whispering demons discuss my shame!

So why do my eyes burn with tears?
Why does my throat tighten?
Why do I feel heavy?
Why can’t I answer “why”?

No traumatic past to haunt me
No scars of abuse
No maltreatment

Yes I’m different
Yes I feel different
No, I don’t understand

There’s no reason for this darkness
No cause for this turmoil
Insanity it may be
But I feel sane –

– Can I feel sane if I feel wrong?

Not a happy, healthy girl
But they don’t guess I’m broken
Not a cheerful, smiley girl
Still they don’t know I’m hurting

How can I talk about this pain
When I don’t know its causes
How can I talk
without words?

I can’t
I must
I can’t