My Room {Draft: Narrative Poem}

My room?

Why would you ask me what my room looks like?

My room?

It was small, dark, and clean.

It was a safe space,

no, it was supposed to be a safe space.

That room was small, dark, and cold.

The room where I watched the door,

the room where I couldn’t sleep,

the room where I could speak because

it was not allowed in the rest of the house.

I,

I sat in that room in the dark.

Talking to no one but myself.

That room where I listened for footsteps.

That room which wrapped

its hands around my throat

looking me in the eyes,

telling me, “shut up,”

telling me, “I brought you into this world I can take you out,”

telling me as her hands wrapped around my throat,

while my hands scratched at her shoulders.

Telling me, “she should be feared.”