The Sanctuary In My Nightmares

Every few years the walls would change

My Little Pony, Barbie, Bratz

and if my parents could afford it,

we’d get a new carpet.

Something to sink our feet into,

bury are faces into when we could no longer stand,

something to soak up the tears like an overflowing bath.

Something to muffle the shouting below.

The carpet was a luxury that we would trash

like the time I poured glue over it

by accident, one time as we slept on the floor.

It would smile at the white ceiling,

the only thing that did not age,

the only thing to stay the same.

Our prayers and silent screams had condensated onto it.

After every horror we’d bear witness to

we’d ask it for answers, like God’s face may appear

From the emptiness, like toast

But instead the ceiling was ever bare

Forcing me to explore my thoughts like a planet.

And then there was the cave beneath my wardrobe,

a storage space by day, the center of my nightmares by night.

The faceless shadow would crawl out to get me,

when the room was dark and the house was still.

I’d scream like my mother had the night before

But this time no one would hear me.

My room was a sanctuary.

My room was a sanctuary

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