Dollhouse.
[11/may/2024; 5:56 am]
I stare at the wooden roof above me as the first chirps begin to echo.
I find myself unable to sleep and rest, unable to quiet down or forget.
The memories the Dollhouse gave me are many.
Remember when you hung me upside down over a well?
Remember what you called me the time I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed?
Remember the screams of my sister as you scared her half to death?
Perhaps you will recall when you, a grown man, chased after my little sister. She was four years old and knew she had done wrong.
God forbid she play outside like a normal kid who forgot her sweater.
I saw her tears and froze. I saw her eyes and froze. I saw the way you loomed closer, and froze as you commanded her closer.
I promised myself something that day. I was nine.
I promised I would never just stand by.
“Better me than her” I figured.
“Better me than my mother and sisters.”
The middle child was me.
“What are you, the town’s lawyer?” he teased.
“I defend who I want, so why don’t you fuck off.” Big words for a small mouth. So you showed the demon in you. You showed the vile in you.
“You never got along with him,” said my eldest sister, a decade later.
“You always had an issue with him,” said my mother, two decades later.
Be careful in this Dollhouse,
Might be the smog in the air,
Must be the mold from those tears,
Beware of the memory loss,
The Dollhouse spares no one,
And if you aren’t careful too,
The memories will escape you
Just like it did the rest of them.
“I never said that,” Mothers will say.
“That never happened,” Fathers will shrug.
“It was years ago, let go already,” Siblings will bark.
I will look in the mirror and think twice about reality.
Who are we, if not our memories and experiences?
When those are challenged, what else is there to see,
But the shell in the mirror unsure of its own name,
Of its own face,
Of its own past,
Of its own life.
Beware of the Dollhouse,
Here we have a habit to forget.
Must be the mold in those old tears,
Or the echo of screams, cries, lies and poisonous words.
But is it really our duty to forget?
I look at the lot of you and I don’t see any good come of it.
You lot in your new Dollhouses, pristine from the outside.
Let me look inside your cabinets, let me smell under the rug.
What are you hiding?
I wish I could forget the Dollhouse,
But in my dreams I still visit them.
I visit the same places every night,
Not a single variety in mind.
The same Dollhouse in my dreams will not let me sleep.
The same Dollhouse in my memories keeps me awake.
I wake at night and sleep during daytime.
I stare at the ceiling of my new house and wonder if I should call it quits.
At least in death there are no dreams,
Only rest, only sleep.
What a comforting idea that is,
It calls to me just like sleep calls to me at 9am after a night of no sleep.
My bed whispers my name.
But I know that if I give in the loop will just start again.
Every day the same hope:
I hope tonight I can sleep.
I hope today I see a flower and smile.
I hope one day I will be held by a new hand,
I hope one day I will hear “I Love You” for the first time.
