I hate to be at home,
yet I like it at the same time.
I can sprawl on my comfy bed all day
with my stuffed toys by my side;
I can wear whatever I want;
I can even sing at the top of my lungs. However,
this comfort comes with a price.
Every night,
The sounds of unbearable screams and angry shouts echo the house’s walls.
If not, just the sharp whipping sounds of a stick,
followed by the wails and cries of a high pitched voice.
It goes on for minutes, hours, days,
until silence comes.
That is not the end though;
after the silence comes crashing, clattering,
throwing of items and papers on the white ceramic floor.
Yet, in the morn there is not a scratch to be found.
As if nothing ever happened at all.
In the morning,
Nothing has ever changed.
Only new imprints left on delicate skin;
Starting from water stains on the face
To oddly shaped bruises on the hands, back and legs.
It is a new day,
And the cycle starts again.
Author’s note: Just something I wanted to try.
