I Want Victims Of Childhood Abuse To Share Their Poetry

Dead dogs

What sort of a life is this?
Hiding from
Sleeping giants
Behind
Gates guarded by dead dogs
Where the silence that comes after
Barks and growls and camera flashes
Fist on flesh and whispered words
Threats and gasping breath
Is so deafening you cover your ears
close your eyes
Hold your breath

What sort of a life is this?
They never told you that giants die
And dead dogs lie
Even if they did

You'd never have believed them