In the space of silence we hold our secret heart
The real desire that goes unanswered
No peace, even alone knowing we are
seen as nothing more than chattel, property
Used or not, a thing to be ignored unless needed
As the coldness grows inside, a bitter truth,
we are alone, in a room of people, alone even when a partner draws near
An illumination, reality is rarely what we like or think it is…
Hatred becomes the armor, that protects our sanity, cold and merciless
We pretend, that everything is fine even when we struggle with the inter demons
Are tortured with the true, we can’t leave
No running, no chance to repair what has been irretrievably destroyed.
Alone, until we find, alot of other souls walking the same path.
An though solace is found in sharing pain
The fact remains…
When we go home…we are still alone..
Still.. owned
Still silent in..our..tears…

An Original Poem by H R Beebe