I am a doll. I’m kept in a box and only to be cherished whenever I start to fall apart. I get stitched at torn seams as my pieces begin to separate. Only handled with care when my destruction goes too far. I am held together but my stuffing still shows. When I can, I poke it back in because I don’t want my insides to be seen. I have added patches here and there to hide pieces of myself, to hide scars I don’t want others to see. I have stitched on a smile. It’s permanently there to hide what’s really inside. Sometimes the monster comes along and tries to pry out my stitches but I quickly stitch myself back up and I hide my thread in a tiny bag. Sometimes I get played with. Sometimes I am just taken out to be tossed around. I am a rag doll.



I have made a new monster today. She is ugly. A monster who tried to be different from the rest. She tried and tried to prove she wasn’t what everyone said. Most of her life people told her things she was. Each new name or taunt became another scar that marred her skin to make her look like what they wanted. Being hit with stones and lashed with whips caused her skin to callous. She became cold and hardened to the world. She just wanted people to let her be. She wanted to be alone. She sat in the shadows. She played in the dark. Over time she met a light and it became her dearest friend. Throughout the friendship it burned her here and there. Adding more scars, covering her skin. One day, she came across a mirror. Her eyes were opened and she realized all of her fears. She was the monster everyone called her for years. Tears filled her eyes, she didn’t know what to do. She began to run. Only to return to her cage that had hid her from the sun. The ghosts they spoke to her, jeering from their shadows. She bowed her head and began to cry again. She whispered to herself, this isn’t me. I am not who they want me to be. She began to walk again, floating like a dream. I am her and she is me.

I dreamt of my monster last night.

I dreamt of my monster last night. I awoke with tears coming out of my eyes. No matter where I hide, he always finds me. I am terrified to dream. All day I get lost in snippets of lost memories. Things I try so hard to forget. It is maddening. I haven’t been able to focus. Tonight I lie awake. The memories are continuing to flood my walls. My tortured pets, my crushed soul, and all of the silent screams haunt me. He taunts me. I can not see him. But I know he is near. The devil is always hiding in my deepest fears. Tonight blood will be shed while I fight these demons in my head.

As I watch you slumber

As you sleep, I can tell that you are dreaming. As I look upon you, I wonder if you see me or your monster. Is it I that haunts your dreams or a sickeningly painful memory? I begin to think about my dreams. Some are filled up with the delightful muse that is you, others are filled with the horrendous memories of my quondum. Just the thought of the latter makes me want to jolt you awake. Let me take your breath away with a kiss and let me scare your monsters away.



The silence is back again. But my silence is different from yours. Mine is maddeningly loud. The skeletons and demons scream. Sometimes they are so loud, I can’t hear myself think and I forget to breathe. Sometimes I wish someone else could hear them. A few have seen the traces of their essence. But, even fewer recognized them. I fear that the monsters will use me up until there is nothing left.


My monster

I hear his car pull in. My heart begins to race and my palms are sweaty. I know he’s coming for me. The next few minutes are agonizing. He comes in screaming. The door slams so loud the walls shake in terror. Fear is clouding my brain. I have lost my train of thought. He reaches towards the closet and my spirit sinks. Please anything but that. He screams some more but I can’t comprehend what he is saying. I’m too afraid to think. He snatches my arm and I feel the familiar pain. Once, twice, three times. Again and again. My wrist begin to bleed. I don’t cry out, I begin to laugh. I laugh like I’ve heard the funniest joke in the world. Apparently he doesn’t find it funny. He grabs my hair and his fist finds my face. I taste the floor. Darkness begins to consume me. At least in my darkness, I am free….. if you or someone you know is suffering through child abuse, you can call 1-800-422-4453…. it’s the ChildHelp national child abuse hotline.