The Forgotten One

If walls could talk, I would ask.

Do you still feel his presence every time you hear footsteps outside your room? When the door opens do you wonder who is coming through, is it him? Is this why you shiver as your tiny body presses against me?

If walls could talk.

I would ask why horrors like this happen to one individual, what devil decided you should be the one to endure such abuse, over and over. How did your mind not snap years ago. Why does it seem that all the depravity of the world gravitates towards you, a child whose only crime in life was being born.

They wonder why you cry out, why you throw yourself against us. Doctors force drugs into you believing you have a chemical imbalance, a mind that has not developed. All incorrect.

Sweet child. It is ok, you can beat upon me for as long as you wish. I am here for you, my sides are strong and padded for your protection. They say you are unwell, not worthy to live in society, a danger to yourself and others. I know this is untrue. You were brought to me, to stop you from harming yourself, little do they know the reasons. They do not try to understand why you are this way. I understand. You are unlike the others who are brought here for me to safeguard. You are a refugee pleading for asylum.

These bruises are not all your doing, your wounds cut deeper than the fragile skin that tries in vain to protect you. I will not harm you. You should feel safe within my confines. If it were within my power no harm would come to you again, but alas, my abilities are limited I can only protect you for so long. Until that day comes, you are free to release your anger and frustrations, free to expel the hurt trapped inside you.

Do you hear him outside, slowly pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, waiting. Can you sense his ghostly presence?

The damage done to you is deeper than sight. I have no eyes, but even I am not so blind. Why is it easier for them to look away and mask your pain with medication rather than try to heal you?

They need to understand why you cower, why raised voices make you shake and tremble. Why you fear the dark.

I know why.

You whisper your painful secrets to me as you try to sleep, I hear you scream the truth, trying to banish the demons created inside you. You cry in the day, and relive horrors committed to you in the night. So, go ahead beat your tiny hands against my sides. You are the defiant one, stronger than you realize. I will stand with you, I am here for you to lash out against, to exhaust yourself upon. I am here for you to heal.

You are too young to feel hatred towards yourself, the anger within is not yours, it never should have been. You are not at fault, the blame is not your burden to carry, it never was.

I have heard enough to know the outside world is harsh to those like you. You try to fit in, but they won't allow it. They called you names in school because you are different. Children cannot understand why you shy away from them, they are confused why your behaviors change so rapidly, happy one moment, followed by an outburst. They have never experienced what you must endure. We hope they never do.

You are the forgotten one. There were times they found you alone on the streets, withdrawn, fearful, rocking and mumbling to yourself. They didn’t know you feared returning to a place of physical and emotional torture. I heard how you were bounced from one unloving home to another. Neglected, no more that a dollar value to those paid to protect you.

At night do you continue to hear the door shake as your hastily built barricade crumbles. Can you smell the sick sweet scent of chocolates that he used to bring you, to bribe and buy your silence. The only gift you kept are the crayons he brought, the same ones you now color on my surface.

Your laughter was stolen from you, yet I hear you giggle when no-one is around. I feel the imagination you are capable of through your drawings that you display on me, I wear them with pride. I hear the stories you tell yourself when you hide in that part of your mind where you feel safe. If only for a moment.

Are you haunted by sounds on the other side of your door, do you think it is him? Do you wait in fear until you hear the footsteps fading away. Wondering if he will return.

Sleep little one.

I know you tried to hide among the nooks and cranny's of another place. Those walls tried to protect as you huddled in their shadows. But we are only walls.

Go ahead kick at me, beat your head upon me, weep, let your tears stain my fabricated flesh. I accept you for who you are and for who you were never given a chance to become. Hush now little one, I will watch over, as you try to sleep. Whimpering, curled in the corner like a frightened puppy, there is never rest for you.

We are only walls, we remain silent.

If the walls of his home could talk would they tell us of the night he passed out in another drunken stupor. Would they tell us of a tiny shadow that crept into his room and of a gaseous liquid that was poured upon the bed as he slept. Would they tell us of how the defiant one cast a burning flame into the room and closed the door. How the handle was tied with rope to stop it from opening. Would they mention the sounds he made as he beat upon the walls, but they were thick and strong, no one could hear his screams.

But, as I said we are only walls.

Rest now. I will hold you in an embrace of my own. No harm shall come to you as I cradle you, with me you are safe.

Sleep little one, dream of a better life, one where you are loved.

For all the forgotten ones.

Jason

Photo by Matthew Moloney on Unsplash

Photo by Austin Schmid on Unsplash