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His hands never touched me in that way, anger fisting into sensation, pain thrumming
through skin, bone, flesh. His hands came through my ears, doors I had slammed shut and blankets thrown over me. Fear became a cloak, is still a cloak. He doesn’t see what he did wrong. Everything is fine but summers must end, and lingering affection gets through like a net over the next youngest child. Hot breath, angry exhalations, yells, screams, sobs, huddling embraces, hearts wanting to stop the beating beating against ribs, doors, faces, backs, bones. He’s not the only one. I cradle my friend, her legs kick and shoulders jerk beneath my hold-- and I try not to cry. The sobs crawl up my throat, but I shove them back down my windpipe with curses I don’t dare say. My fists clench, as bile rises, and violence shears past the controlled fear, ripping through curtains keeping away memories of small children running and hiding from a giant who calls them his.
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I feel screaming all around me.
Flashing, blinding, bawling, cackling! Neons crowding your eyes, no more peripheral- Constant Entertainment! New shows calling for your attention! Pics and gifs- Cute Baby Animals! Animated colors, no plot, just the beat: Bum Bum Bum, Bam! Bum Bum Bum, Bam! And REPEAT! No space for a quiet room, Exploding colors on your screens now, Bare skin now, Stories with the same characters, Same plots, same settings now. Exercise? Bah- That scene already has my heart racing now. And look! A new diet, Old one wasn’t working, so I’ll try this one now! Screens for every room, every house, Surround sound, too! Drown out thoughts of an ‘outside’, you’ll get sunburnt, and cancer. See the has-to-be-good-food and always be hungry, pizza has vegetables right? That counts! Everything you need can be delivered these days, it’ll save you a few trips, then you’ll have more time to watch your shows! Everyday, waves of interference drowns me. I don’t realize it until I shut off my music, my screens, and sit in a silent room. At first, culture shock! My thoughts seem so loud that they’re shrieking inside my skull, Like they haven’t realized I’ve quieted my world down for a moment. But then, they subside, realizing that I can finally hear them. They speak softly, Reminding me of what their voices sound like, The way they feel as they tiptoe through my hollowness, Echoing in places I haven’t explored in weeks or years, But reminding me of the comfort of all my nooks and crannies, The hidey-holes where I’ve tucked away my favorite puns, Childhood memories of wooden swords and magic wands, Stories of my own creation. Places where, No matter how loud my neighbors crank up their speakers, I can enjoy peace and silence. And there are no commercials to skip or wait out. |
Cheyenne Bramwell
I love to write, and poetry is one of my favorite ways to figure out what my brain is doing. 
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