The Back Seat

September 2, 2008
By Amy Terracciano GOLD, Madison, New Jersey
Amy Terracciano GOLD, Madison, New Jersey
16 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I sit behind you
A spot that was safe from your wrath,
But not today.
I sit behind you,
You talk in the voice,
The voice that alludes I screwed up.
I sit
Trying to ignore the voice.
I stare out the window,
Thinking of nothing but what will happen.

Your voice gets louder
You stop the car.
You turn in your seat.
Your eyes burn into mine.
You begin to yell.
A yelling that sends knives into my heart.
A yelling that makes my eyes bleed with the blood of my heart.
The blood that shows my faults,
My weakness.

I try to shut my eyes,
I try to think of happier days,
But there are none.
You have made my life a living hell.
You keep yelling.
The fire in your eyes.
The blood in mine.
I want to run,
To get away from you.
You are not fair.
You are not a mother.
You are a devil.

I turn my head away from you.
Thinking of your problems.
Your voice is shrill,
Shrill with daggers.
Your hand comes up,
Your claws swipe my face,
Opening up my bare cheek.
The flesh pulls away,
Showing the evil within,
But mom it is not evil,
It is kindness,
It is really love.
But you don't know me,
You won't know me,
If you keep killing me slowly.

Your voice gets quiet,
But I know you will soon show your evilness again,
The evilness that you don't know you have.
You think that that they way you treat me is a form of care,
Of helping
That it is something I want in my life,
Something that acts as a guide.
But no mom,
All I ever wanted was to,
Sit next to you, not behind you.

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