The Never Ending Cycle
BlueJay06
June 5th, 2025
***TRIGGER WARNING***
This poem has some descriptive moments of abuse, and tense situations.
Every person, they say, deserves kindness.
Every person deserves happiness.
Every person, an inherent right, deserves safety.
I remember hearing those words spoken once,
a clear voice,
a gentle declaration,
and a distant,
unfamiliar ache began
somewhere deep within my chest.
But what do you do when the very hands
meant to shield,
meant to nurture,
become the hands that strike?
When the voice that should soothe,
the voice that should guide,
becomes the roar
that shatters the fragile glass
of everything you thought was safe.
When those sworn to protect you,
hurt you.
For years, I breathed this air.
They told me,
their faces stern,
their noices cutting through the quiet:
This is not normal
This is not safe.
This is not what everyone goes through.
And I'd nod, eyes downcast,
a small knot tightening in my stomach.
But for years,
it was my normal.
Expected.
Anticipated.
Feared.
I thought everyone lived
with that hum of tension,
just beneath the skin.
The silent hum of a preasure cooker, always threatening to blow.
Then, the sudden, hot rise of sound- the raw, primal yell.
The quick, sharp burst of anger,
a flash of blinding white.
The heavy thud,
a door being slammed,
a table being flipped.
The sharp crack.
The deafening bang.
And then, the quick, sickening contact - the sting of his hand.
It didn't always leave a mark that others could see,
but it left a bruise deep inside,
where the air never quite reached.
What do you do
when the one who holds the key,
the one who could stop it all,
the one who should understand,
looks at you, eyes blank,
and tells you
you are just being
dramatic?
A word that wraps around your throat,
stealing the last gasp of complaint.
Dramatic.
So you learn to bite your tongue.
So you learn to swallow the scream.
So you don't.
You suffer,
quiet.
Like a mouse pressed against the wall, invisible.
No one to tell.
You learn to normalize it.
It becomes the wallpaper of your life, fading into the background
until you forget it’s even there.
And then, sometime,
the hitting stops.
A sudden, unnerving calm descends.
The silence after the storm.
A breath held, shallow and quick.
And a fragile hope unfurls,
like a crumpled flower trying to bloom
in the thin light:
Maybe.
Just maybe.
It's getting better now.
Maybe it's really over.
Maybe.
No.
The silence breaks.
The yelling returns,
louder, harsher than before.
The cussing, a stinging lash of words.
The banging, a deeper echo,
a rythm of dread that sinks
into one soles of your feet.
The cycle, a relentless gear,
grinding,
and you are caught in its teeth.
And always, the quiet voice
in the back of your mind,
a parasitic thought whispering:
Did I push too far?
Was it something I said?
Did I make him angry?
Will he hit me again?
Footsteps on the floorboards,
a slow, measured count.
Each creak a warning.
Each shadow a promise.
You never know
what the next hour will bring.
What the next day will unveil.
Each day,
a question mark you can't answer.
Each threat,
a promise weighted with invisible chains.
Waking in the dead middle of the night,
a sudden jolt, heart racing.
Body frozen, wired tight,
afraid to move a muscle.
Breath held, terror stealing it away.
Straining against the silence,
straining for the low hum
of a distant TV,
any sign of ordinary life.
If it’s not there,
only the dark,
and the suffocating weight of fear.
Your mind races, a trapped bird:
What if he heard something?
What if he found something?
Is he coming now?
Is he on his way
to make good on his threats?
It wasn't until I walked into those loud, unfamiliar halls of public school,
and heard laughter that wasn’t careful,
and saw bodies
that didn't flinch or brace,
and watched friends
talk about their parents without flinching,
that the wallpaper started to peel.
Piece by aching piece.
My best friend said, "my dad never does that,"
and the floor dropped out from under me.
Му normal.
It wasn't.
And that's when the cage became visible.
The bars, once invisible,
now thick and cold around me.
The heavy lock, a click I hear now,
always there.
I am trapped,
a life lived in constant anticipation,
a heart beating in a constricted space.
And all I want,
more than anything,
is to break these bars,
to breath air that doesn't sting.
To simply, finally, be
Free.
But then, the future looms.
College, a supposed escape,
Feels more like a gilded cage.
Hours away from him, yes,
in an apartment with my sister, a new city.
a new kind of distance.
Yet the fear travels further.
What if I do something he doesn't like?
A wrong word.
A misplaced glance.
Will he stop paying for college?
Will the money for rent vanish?
Leaving me adrift,
just as I try to stand
on my own two feet?
You can't enjoy the milestones.
The graduation cap feels heavy with dread.
The first day of class,
a performance.
You can't fully immerse yourself in life,
not when every choice,
every breath,
is weighed against the possibility
of losing the little bit of freedom you have.
And the thought of reaching out?
A phone call,
a quiet whisper for help.
The fear of discovery,
a cold knot in the gut.
What if he finds out?
What if my sister finds out?
The past echoes:
a report,
the police showing up,
the officers face,
cold and imposing.
So you don't reach out.
You cling to the quiet,
to the burden carried alone.
The fear of angering him, a constant, suffocating vice.
And the cycle of fear continues.
A never ending cycle.
Tinywhisper11
June 5th, 2025
@BlueJay06 that was really well written 💗 I felt every word of that has if I was describing my own life🙁 you captured each emotion and described it all so perfectly💖 offers you safe hugs 💖 thank you for sharing this with us 💖