Crumbling bricks
of this fortress
after all these years.
Let them crash around me,
crawling in ashes,
fighting for myself
when the ghost of you,
screaming in my head,
is finally on bloodied knees.
You better try fleeing
by the time I stand again.
For this sledgehammer I wield,
where once you used flames
to destroy home.
You sat and watched it burn
the way I will stand and watch
you clamber away after
I break every bone of your
demonic skeleton
writhing beneath your skin.
Somewhere in those years
as you put your hands on me,
torturing a little girl,
a fortress I began constructing
brick by brick.
When you said that I was done,
you’d destroy everyone around me,
make me drag my own bloodied limbs
from smoke and rubble,
I remained poised in silence.
Yet even stoic glass
cracks with storms of time.
There comes a day when
broken little girls
take a sledgehammer
to secrets entrapping unruly souls.
There comes a time when
bricks you enclosed her in
become her fortress.
And then comes the day when,
stained in ashes, whispering with smoke,
she shatters the stones
you threw at her,
the day when she hits a wall,
and finally screams out “Enough!”
She braces for the pain,
raises the sledgehammer,
and no expression on her face,
takes it to every
brick, skeleton, wall and window,
when she takes it to
the ghost of you
praying on bloodied knees.
I warned you then:
You can hold me down,
torture me,
but you better try fleeing
before I stand up again.
