It wasn’t (just) what happened to you. 
It was the silence you had to keep. 

The silence you had to protect. 
The silence of the truth that could never be said. 
For Fridays Frosties. 
Keep the peace. 

Daddys not going to know about this. 
Daddys never here to love me like you do
Daddys not able to show me love like this
Daddy will never know

As I stroked her arm. 
Regulating her tears.
Calming her down. 
Me. 7.
Her. 29. 

Daddys not here. You are. 

How does a 7 year old talk about these moments…where he is actually safe? 
Putting secret capital in a bank with redundant currency. 
Currency that cant be used, or talked about. 
When this is normal. 
Happening on monthly basis. 

Secret safe place with mummy. 
A silent secret. 
Because shes always crying. 
Always made upset by others. 

Until years later when I realise..
..she nearly always threw the first emotional punch. 

But no, not aged 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 – I only see upset mummy. 
So many people upset with her. 

Never strange. Normal. 
How she needs me.  

No one else soothes her. 
No one else came around. 

Those she stole care from
She also threatened. 

There were no bruises from what she did. 
Just the threat of them. 

The only wounds were what I did to myself. 
Upset because I hadn’t consoled her well enough. 
Upset because I was in trouble for something else. 
Having to steal for what I didn’t have. 

Love, Care, Nuture, Attention all not given, but stolen. 
Taken from me, draining my resource. 
Instead of having it filled like other children in school. 

Silence of what I couldn’t say. I couldn’t understand at the time. 

Silence as I had to be ‘grateful’ and ‘good’ and ‘christian’ 
Said the praying words from the person whos hands raised when threatened.

Threatened scars that never quite bruised hard enough for others to notice. 
Silent scars. 
Emotional wounds
Eggshells.  

Don’t speak. 
Don’t even try. 
Don’t even consider it. 
Don’t break the programming.
Don’t you dare. 

If I could even say it. 

Silence. Keeping silence. 
Silence. Ache. Everyone knew. 
Everyone fucking knew. 

For what they saw in public was worse behind the doors. It always is. 

Silence. 
Thank you Jesus. Yes. 

For filling a God shaped hole that she excavated with emotional tools. 

Pray. Repent.Pray. 
For what I had done to feel guilty
On a loop
Of self pain.
When fingers were bitten until the puss flowed like Jesus blood. 
When suicide felt plausible as an escape plan. 
In Silence. 

Ignore. Run. Avoid. 
Silence. 
Silence. 

Because….
Women are victims
Women are right
Women are oppressed
Women struggle to make it. 

Mummy cant be a monster. 

I have to run away. 
Mother monster far too big. 
Mother hurt too much
Mother repercussions too much. 
I cant go there. 
Silence. 

Masking Truth with uncomfortable lies. 
Disintegration of a story I cannot tell. 
Wounds like pain, when jack in the box opened. 
So it cant be. 

Mother monster. 
Who. When. Pressed. 
Appears nice. 
Who. When. Pressed. 
Hides away. 
Pleads victim. 
Mother monster. 
Nice. Mothers. Tries hard mothers. 

Silence the only option. 
Fractured normal childhood risking exposure. 
FUF. That’s what they called her. 

She wasn’t bullied, only when found out. 
She played victim more that she was one.
Playing nice in the corridors of those who protected her
Whilst family and so-called friends knew something else. 
The powerful became her protection
And power was drained by those around her.   
People her prey, More than her prayer. 

Silenced. Shamed. Stolen from. 
What was my choice?
Was this my choice?
Silence. For so long. 
Silence is golden
Silence is false.
Silence is fear
Wrapped around its snake like wrapping. 
Soul eating silence
Of abuse un-describable. 
Silence of the lambs. 

I spoke my story with bitten nails
I spoke my story with smiles I couldn’t falsify on photographs
I spoke my story when I didn’t go home.
I spoke my story with my haunted eyes. 
I spoke my story with uncontrollable tears. 
I spoke my story…..when I ran. 
 
Silence. Secret Silence. 
Of something everyone knew
But no one could talk about. 

Silence. 
Quiet. 
Hidden. 
Shame. 




Alone. 




Like Silence on a page. 





Words that cannot be said. 
Words that cannot be inferred. 
Can’t get her into trouble. 
Can’t upset the mother. 
Can’t talk about it. 

Fear wins. 
Fear words. 

But now. 

Now. 

Freedom is when silent stories can be told. 
Silent no more. 
Stories recovering their strength
From silent wounds
Impossible to once tell. 

Truth. Flies. Like Words. 
Stories. Healing. Wounds.
Now. 
This. 
Is. 
Me. 

Love wins. 
Truth frees.