Do You See Us?
A poem about Domestic Violence and its impact on children
The world sees you. The strong courageous warrior who escaped the cycle of seclusion and abuse. They see your black and blue marks fade into scars of strength and salvation. They celebrate your revival. Watching in awe as your soul, once trapped in a cycle of cataclysmic despair finally breaks free from him and reclaims its fire. They see the way your smile, once believed to have been buried beneath the tears, pain, and spilled blood, reclaims its proper position on your face. They see your hurt, they see your healing, and they hear your story.
But what about the smaller shadows left hiding in the corners of darkened rooms? Eyes wide like saucers, bodies trembling under makeshift blanket cloaks. Straining to hear, to catch any shift in the rhythm of footsteps, any slight change in the creaking of floorboards. Each sound precisely memorized, a signal that danger is coming. What about the little racing heartbeats, the shallow breaths, the hope that if they just keep still enough or keep quiet enough maybe they’ll disappear and with them the screaming and banging that echoes through the thinned walls.
What about their tiny prayers? Desperately kneeling beside their beds in their princess night gowns. Their tiny voices calling out to a god who seemed not to hear them. Praying for an end to the fighting? Praying for peace, while fearing that it may only come once he’s struck her one time too hard and rendered them orphans?
What about the shadows grown long? Frantically shuffling, scrambling, to find something, anything to shield the ears of the young. Something to muffle the sounds of shattered glass and angry screams. Some kind of barrier to protect their innocent ears from the monsters that lurk in every corner and every crevice of the darkness, parasites just itching to steal their innocence. What about their bruises? Hid beneath long sleeves and carefully fabricated smiles, because they learned the hard way that having courage hurts and bravery leaves scars.
When the shadows grow up, the darkness still langers on in the quiet places of their soul. Some shadows have absorbed so much of the darkness that they begin to blend with it. Joining the monsters in the corners and crevices, echoing through the thin walls words they swore never to repeat. Other shadows desperately grasp for the light but the brightness burns. It exposes too much. So, they live in broad daylight while still hiding under the blanketed cloaks that once protected them from the monsters. Every outstretched hand looks like a trap. Every sunny day feels borrowed. They remind themselves to stay quiet, stay small, stay invisible.
Stay safe.
