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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Thursday, May 26, 2022
Melanin Speaking

Letter to Trauma

All articles featured in The Beet are creative, satirical and/or entirely fictional pieces. They are fully intended as such and should not be taken seriously as news.

Sometimes, I can’t sleep at night, 

I lie down and lie to myself that I might be okay

My mind runs, and runs, and runs 

Until I get tired, not sleepy, just tired of carrying this baggage.

Every now and again I hear the sounds of fists hitting flesh, 

Mom and Dad screaming in the kitchen

and the muffling of cries

As I’m pretending that I’m sleeping

Just to mask the pain in my voice

That I now soothe with alcohol

And I can’t help but to think that maybe I could’ve done something

A child stepping into shoes that should’ve been filled by an adult

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Doing all I could to survive 

I was young, And I feared death

Not my own, but of either parent

A future yet to be unraveled by the seams

Some kids talk about wanting to be firefighters, doctors, pilots

But I, just wanted to grow up to a point the noises would stop

I was 2 when the sounds first started

I was 6 and they kept coming 

I was 10 when these sounds crescendoed into a suicide attempt 

I was 11 when I left that toxic environment

But I’m still haunted by the memories

I’m 21, a decade later, writing this letter to my trauma 

Up at 3am because I still can’t sleep

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