Would anything be different? Would you still need to be saved?
Do you think he would have heard you? What would you have gained?
What if you had screamed? What if you had cried?
What if you had kicked your feet and not kept it all inside?
What if you had fought him? What if you told him no?
Would anything have changed, all those years ago?
What if you’d been stronger? What if you’d been brave?
What if you had spoken? What if you had shared?
What if someone listened? What if someone cared?
What if you had told him that it hurt and caused you pain?
What if he were here now? What words would you say?
Would you tell him how he broke you, slowly, every day?
Would you let him see your anger? Would he see your fear?
Do you think he would acknowledge you? Would he even know you’re here?
Do you think that you’d feel better if you learned to let it out?
If instead of tiny whispers, you learned to yell and shout?
What if you could tell him all the things inside your mind?
What is it that your looking for? What do you hope to find?
Do you think that it’d be helpful? Would it ever bring you peace?
Would it wipe away his handprints? Would the flashbacks ever cease?
Are there any actions you might do that could change what’s in the past?
The story has been written, the players all were cast.
The plot has been unfolded. The end has come and gone.
The nights, in all their darkness, have given way to dawn.
Your body still remembers what your heart wants to forget.
And looking back to what has been just fills you with regret.
He is dead and gone now. No confrontation can take place.
That chair where he should be sitting, is just an empty space.
So what good are your words now? They have no place to land.
There’s not a person in this world who could truly understand.
It’s too late to change things. It’s too late to try.
It’s pointless now to question. There’s no one to ask why.
So, take a breath, put on your mask, stand up straight and tall.
Show the world that you’re ok, when you don’t feel that way at all.