The sky rumbled with the voice of God,
and I remember this voice like my own -
echoing in the depths of my subconcious.
I remember when kneeling in prayer before bed
my hands tightly grasping the fire of faith
the windows of my soul shut behind butterfly lashes.
I prayed for many things.
Mommy and Daddy guided me through prayer
every night & I felt safe
tucked warmly in between them.
Until the moment
they would leave
and the door was left
unlocked.
I remember sensations leaving my mind,
and becoming heavy in my cotton candy pink sheets -
But then there goes the creaking, eerie door.
And there the shadow lurked, his footsteps like smoke
so no one would see him enter.
His rough and calloused hands searched gently for me
beneath those delicate pink sheets.
As best as a child could,
I dared not to breathe.
Maybe this would make me invisible.
His lips smacking,
a gulp or two revealed his anxiety,
excitement,
& intrigue.
I remember pressing my body against the mattress,
hoping the space between the pillows
would keep him from me.
I remember that his hands reminded me of the desert,
starved and in drought - desparately seeking refreshment.
Was I just a small well, for him to visit whenever he pleased?
And as the ghost of the desert would come and go,
for many nights and many years
he would feel the need to quench this thirst.
Until the prayers ceased to be of peace,
and became of anger.
I felt the rage of the women before me lift me -
embodied my tiny frame.
They spoke through me, hissed and roared.
His shadow slowly diverted course. . .
& that's when I chose to become a protector.
& when I chose to become a fighter.
