What They Don't Tell You

There was never a class on the effects of abuse.

Everyone knows to look for bruises or cuts, even cigarette burns.

They watch for yelling and outbursts, a broken home.

Nobody looks for quiet things.

They don’t talk about how it overlaps,

how the mental quickly becomes the physical.

Sometimes, it’s not safe to stay, even though to everyone else, it’s fine.

It looks like a panic attack on the first day of school,

moving out in stages to keep it a secret,

never telling anyone why you left.

If I laugh, nobody will suspect a thing.

Everything’s coming up roses.

It sounds like “will you come back for Christmas Eve”

and the complete lack of an answer.

She’s too young for me to tell her the truth, so instead I go back

to the room I share with my dog

where I yell at him for getting into Grandma’s chicken coop again.

He doesn’t know any better, but I can’t afford anywhere else.

It sounds like sleepless nights and breakdowns on the floor

with my mom on the other end of the phone call.

Housing is too expensive but I can’t go back because I promised:

Once I left, I would stay gone.

My parents raised me to keep my word.

Nobody watches for nervous tics.

I scratch my fingers until my nail beds are bleeding and raw.

My right leg is only still when I am asleep.

I’m losing my siblings and I’m ruining holidays.

“I wish we were all here as a family,” my brother mentions at Thanksgiving,

and deep down, I know he wouldn’t be saying that if I were the one who was hunting.

There are no good options and I have to stay safe.

I keep it to myself and I shut myself away.

My sister talks like I’m on a vacation and she wants me to come back.

Grandma says I’m just staying.

I visit “home” and I visit “my house” and I visit school and work

and every place I’ve ever been because I have to keep moving or it will catch up.

I promised myself that I would be authentic.

The truth of that pushes others away, so a new me arises at each destination.

Christmas Eve will come and I must pick between terror and loneliness

because I can’t form relationships meaningful enough

to go somewhere loving for the holidays.

They never told me it would be like this.

I thought we were supposed to be happy.

They told me that forever was permanence,

but it seems mine is simply a visit.