Twizzle Bars

Word imprisonment.

The chosen weapon
So many collected,
Spawned from schoolyard bullying,
Nurtured in middle school taunting,
Matured behind boardroom,
Bedroom,
And locked bathroom doors.
Weaponry often hidden
Beyond the law.

How simple the lacerations,

A lexicon of ordinance
Delivered in whispers,
Shouts,
Condemnations,
Sweet nothings.

How naïve our defenses,
Trusting verbal assaults
But air filled with everyday sound,
Ignorant of double entendres.

Until…
 
The bleeding starts.
From where
We so often know not.
The festering sub-conscious wounds
Spread over time
Seem destined to last
As the aggressor hopes.

And so…

Protection comes,
Not in the form of retaliation,
But by the mind’s ability to seal off,
At least during conscious hours.

Always hoping
Slumber will come easy,
Knowing to fend off
Sleep-time invasion
Requires one finger,
Two fingers,
Three finger shots,

In copious numbers.

And still…

There are times
Prison-locks are lost in shadows,
Twizzle bars relent,
Allowing dreams their escape
Into that time
Long past.

Where nighttime’s sweet utterances heard
Came accompanied by caresses,
Became lessons taught,
Only to be banished
As sharp-edged daytime words buried deep
In the innocence of trust.

How grateful we become
For the dawn of another day,
With last night’s wrangling torture disarmed,
At least until
Skies become dark…

Once again