Hiding
If I stay in here,
curled in a ball,
eyes closed,
then nothing bad
can happen to me
again.
The scary things
happen outside
my small, dark hiding spot.
Out there,
people scream.
But in here,
it’s just me.
I can tell myself
the world is frozen
and the screaming
I heard from outside
was my imagination.
They don’t let me stay
in my small, dark haven.
Someone lets in light,
and, with it,
illuminated horrors.
That light
seared images of
real-life nightmares
into my mind.
The screaming
was not my imagination.
Scary things exist.
The horrific haunts me.
A monster lurks
in the background
even on good days.
I miss my small, dark hiding spot.
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