Behind Bars

Bars.

Behind bars reflect the shadows of scars he burned into my skin.
Behind bars my freedom taken by him, perpetual sins committed and wont quit it.

Behind bars he keeps us, locked under his will.
Behind bars we are ill and tears spill, floods the whole damn place and we suffocate.

Behind bars, in my dreams, even then I see his face. Memories I cannot erase.

Behind bars he slowly kills.  He gets his fill from our ills.  Emotionless sociopath, this is how he gets his thrills, imposes his wrath. 

Behind bars my broken spirit weeps.
Behind bars us he keeps.  
Behind bars we aren't even protected, his poison, it infects right through concrete walls. 

Behind bars he detects the slightest glow, motivates him to stoop even lower and act even colder. 

Behind bars I thought I escaped. Ran far away from the rape only to find a gaping hole in the grounds of his prison. Calculate if I am able to jump across this chasm and survive, to be destroyed or to be risen. 

Behind bars in a cell of his hell, while he pulls the rest of the key keepers under his spell.  He plays the game so well.

Behind bars and the cell gets smaller.  Either because I am getting taller or he is closing in, hard to tell.
On my knees begging for mercy, bruised from each time I fell. Deafened by his yell. 

Behind bars for fourteen years and I am beyond itching to leave. Yet every time I cross his lines he adds more locks. Every time. Heaves heavy stones and rocks and they get bigger the bigger I get.  Boulders that feel like pebbles but stings all the while.  Shards of his broken self under my skin and it makes him smile. 

Behind bars I weep.  Behind the bars he keeps around me.  Metal chains render me helpless as he takes the reins.  Whips me to go the directions he wants.  Keeps me in place with the way he taunts. 

Behind bars he haunts.  A cell built so well he doesn't even need to guard it himself. Places the key to my freedom on a shelf slightly out of reach but in line of sight to see. Just to torture me. Reminds me of who has the real authority. 

-Kristina Rose Garcia [2021]

Published by misskris726

Bronx poet, artist and educator.

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