Trapped Echoes

There is a crack in the box that's holding you, 

some of yourself is leaking out. 

And you're afraid now they'll see

you're not the quiet, little girl anymore. 

The good girl they wanted you to be. 

But no, someone presses their finger on the crack, 

stopping you from sliding out, 

she wants you to stay in, 

as the good little girl, you have always been. 

Funny how some of the biggest pains turn into the wildest pleasures. 

"Stay inside the walls!" she says. 

"They're there for a reason. 

I don't remember what the reason was or who built them. 

But accept it. 

Don't cry now. 

Be quiet. 

Be a good girl. 

You're annoying. 

Don't be so sensitive."

Little baby, now you know — you're not wanted out there. 

Hide, 

make yourself small, 

take as little space as possible. 

Stay inside these walls. 

Would it even matter if you tried? 

The walls are so thick with mud 

layered on each time when mom hushed you, 

told you to speak in small letters, 

and accused you of exaggerating. 

At one point she stopped, though. 

Did she really? 

Or did the new adult in this body 

just stop giving her a chance to say anything more? 

But she's also not better. 

She keeps you locked in there, 

pretends you don't exist 

and every time you try to break your silence, 

she drowns you in alcohol, 

kneads you in intoxicating words 

rolling off disgusting tongues,

and lets the dirty hands of strangers 

on the purest body that once was yours. 

You weep in silence 

and hope that one day she'll listen. 

Unlike everyone else so far,

who's been happy to keep you hidden.