The child
hates Halloween the most
of all the holidays. Her nightmares
come to life. She fights the hands
of wizards and bastards, cringing
from gruesome laughter, screams
silently in her mind; they echo
resoundingly.

The child
aches while she’s at play,
she’s scared to leave, to stay,
her mother seems blind. She fights
her disgust, but, she hates herself,
gruesome madness chuckles in her face,
she screams, she’s always screaming
soundlessly.

The child
bleeds herself away,
no need for faking pain today. Her nightmare
comes back to life, every night. She fight the hands
of witches and goblins, terrified
by gruesome whispers, she screams,
pleadingly, to selfish cruelty, screams
hopelessly.

The child
hates herself…

Erin Moen
10/20/03
Copyright 2003 ©

Not personal, empathed. The ache of this type of crime intensifies with age, becomes, at times, soul-benumbing. Too many Amber Alerts, lately... Also, every day I think of Jenn, who experienced abuse on an indefinable level, she is my first link on my bio page. I would like to call her brave, but she would not like that, she survived.