Prayers Are A Weakness
3.16.08

he cries himself to sleep each night
because he doesn’t know how else to pray
silent tears crash down, etching into his soul
like veins, roots, branches
he makes sure not to utter a sound
in his bedroom, by his bed, with his sobs
because: tears are a weakness, boy!
and weakness is unacceptable in his home

but he is weak
yes, he’s oh-so weak
if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t stand by and do
nothing
when blood trickled from Mommy’s nose
he wouldn’t pretend everything was fine
when Mommy averted her embarrassed gaze
from her son’s searching one
(explaining away the bruise on her cheekbone)
((just more lies))
he swallows them like pills
because they are his denial-induced high
his drug, addictive
but he doesn’t care as long as he can tell himself
that everything will be okay

his mother’s lip is split the next morning
her skin a painful sunset—
all black and blue
he wants to look away…
but doesn’t
because: that’s a weakness, too
((well, so what? he wants to scream
what’s wrong with being weak sometimes?))

but instead he cries in his self-proclaimed silence
broken sobs as his only prayers
all the while drunk on denial
as he whispers to his mother,
everything will be all right… just you wait and see…

(but he doesn’t even believe it himself.)

Author's note: I'm not so sure I like the ending of this, but... it's not terrible, just not exactly what I wanted. Let me know what you think.