Carousel (warning triggering, DV. Over 18 only)

I don't even remember home no more
I walked away and closed the door. 
That old front room
With its coffee shop windows
And Tokyo gloom
Was looking more and more 
Like a trap or a tomb.
Even the cat had upped and left
I had a nagging feeling in my chest
That if I didn't get away
I didn't have too many more days. 
Guitars and small screens
Cups of tea and baby's grins
Cherry blossom walks and arcade cool
Reading Dickens and afternoon home school,
The days they passed in carousel fashion
Ups and downs and remote distractions
Every fist might as well have been a gun
There ain't no surviving under that 
Rising Sun. 

"Call the cops!" he leered at me
Keisatsu will take away you not me,
And it was true I soon found out
Locked up waiting to be let out
It happened once, it happened twice
First because he refused to 
Sign my visa papers until I 
Became 'nice enough' for him
To retreat. 
The second time he had knocked 
Me out in the street
And they shut the door on me
Not him. 
I was the one disturbing 
The peace by laying bleeding 
And failing to be quiet enough
To meet their standards for
Societal harmony. 
I couldn't even summon enough
Strength for half of me 
and failed
To stand up unassisted. 
The pigs did not care what he did. 

I have an internal record player
That remembers words and music 
And saves those thoughts for later
It played me Times Square
And Helpless, it conjured up
This Woman's Work and Blue Dress
The world went round and I went down
Singing the words to someone else's 
Emotional drowning.
There is no art or craft to suffering.
It is a knack, a learnt response
To bury yourself down and ensconce
Yourself somewhere other than there
Where music plays and you just don't care. 

When I came back to my senses
The record had stopped and I 
Had lost my defenses, 
Covered in slime
And bites and unwanted kisses
Rose shaped bruises and clumps
Of hair missing 
Scratched up and bleeding
Walking with a limp
"Now your munko is black and blue
It looks like it belongs to me
Along with the rest of you."
He laughed. 

I wondered how long I could take
What I had been dealt 
How much longer could I fake being human
With feelings and tears
And rights and reasons? 
When my well was dried up
And all that I was left with 
Was fear, anger and disgust. 

The days they passed in carousel fashion
Ups and downs and remote distractions
Every fist might as well have been a gun
There ain't no surviving under that 
Rising Sun. 


  1. Ellie Thompson

    It’s taken me a few days to decide to read your poem as I wasn’t quite sure what to expect because of the trigger warning. I’m glad I read it, although it expresses so much pain and angst. It’s so sad, and I can only assume it’s true? If so, you are very brave to have written it – that must have taken an awful lot of courage, so kudos to you for expressing your feelings in such an artistic way (that’s meant to be a compliment, not an insult, by the way). I listened to your recording, which made me even more aware of the depth of your feelings. However, I was surprised at the female voice (or am I mistaken – in which case, I apologise). I had thought the name Detroit was a man’s name. I also googled it for further information on that, but it confirmed it the same. I hope it helped a little to write this, and I wanted you to know that I will remember your experience and hope that you’re in a safe place now. I send you comfort, peace and calm. Ellie x

      1. Ellie Thompson

        I’m glad to know you’re safe at the moment. I will try to read more of your posts as I can relate to what you write, having survived DV and abuse myself too. I follow your blog anyway, so this won’t be difficult for me to do. Thank you for sharing your experiences – it must help others to feel less alone if experiencing the same things. Take care x

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