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