If I could draw,
I'd draw the things I've never been able to put into words.
Or the things that have never had
Enough power to be said.
I'd re-create the mountain of screwed up tissue balls.
The muscles flexing in the policeman's arms,
As he bagged up my filthy clothes.

If I had the ability to paint,
I'd illustrate the bare walls of the interview room.
Sketch a birds-eye view
Of the image the security camera was receiving.
I'd somehow put into words
That I couldn't sit on furniture.
Talking to anyone of any importance
Was done crawled up
In the smallest corner available.

If I had the gift of creativity,
I'd re-create the hopelessness in my eyes
When the detective asked for my recollection of that night.
I'd use ink to create the mistrust of the police.
Crayons to emphasise the empathetic smiles of those
Who knew what field I was being dealt with.
I'd shadow over and smudge the forensics being taken,
And burn them soon after.

If I had the ability to draw,
Maybe people would understand the
Unspoken Horrors.
The little things nobody ever talked about.
Maybe they'd begin to realise
Just how truly terrible that point in my life was.
About just how much I've achieved.