The Closet
By: Kimberley Dowson
Tags: Poetry, Poetry On Medium, Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse Survivor, Thriller

Photo by Kimberley Dowson

The Closet

I can hear you breathing.

And those callous giggles and whispers are at my expense.

It’s dark in here and I want out so why won’t you let me?

I can feel the weight of your body pressing up against the door.

I would kick and scream like hell, but I know it’s useless.

I’m no match for your strength so just open the door.

This isn’t funny anymore.

I’m scared of the dark and I’m claustrophobic, just let me out!

Please, please just let me out, please!

I am sorry if I did anything wrong.

I didn’t mean to; I don’t even know what I did?

Tell me what I did, tell me why are you keeping me here?

Why are you doing this to me?

I thought we were playing a game, so I went along with it.

Your weight against the door made me realize you wanted me here.

And I don’t know what hurts more.

Your cruelty or your demented sense of humour.

Open this fucking door you son of a bitch!!!

I know you can hear me! Listen to me!

I’m going to keep kicking and screaming until you let me out!

I can hear you, maybe now you have come to your senses.

The son of a bitch is wedging a chair up under the handle.

He’s walking away, laughing. I’m not getting out.

I can’t open this damn door and I want it open so badly.

The bedroom door just closed; he’s gone.

When he goes in there he is gone for hours and I’m alone.

Please will you please just let me out! I can’t take it anymore!

I am so tired, and my eyes are crusted from crying.

I have nothing left; you have taken it all.

And I’m starting to think I might not ever make it out of here.

I just want to go home, just let me go home.

God if you’re listening, help me, please make him let me out.

I don’t want to be here anymore, I promise I will do better, I promise.

My hate for him is growing, fuck him.

Anger makes me brave and once it’s there, it ferments and evolves.

It takes my mind to dark places where it could be unleashed at any moment without concern for consequence.

He would be wise to open the door.

He doesn’t know but I am a patient woman when it comes to revenge.

And the longer I stay here, the worse it is going to be.

I need to use the bathroom so much it hurts.

Maybe I will just piss on the floor, all over his things.

It would serve him right for doing this to me.

It would be the beginning of a long and meticulous campaign of revenge.

A thing of true beauty, filled with years of satisfaction, for me.

Oh, the things I could do to him.

He has no idea who he is messing with, how wicked I can be.

While I am here, I have nothing but time to plot.

And I never, ever forget a hurt.

It’s getting dark, the light through the cracks, it’s fading.

How long have I been in here? What time is it?

I could die in here with no food or water.

Let me the fuck out right now! Wake up!

Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!!!!

I can hear someone, I think it’s his mom, oh God please be his mom.

Finally, the door opens but she just looks at me and does not say a word.

Is this normal here? A sick and twisted game they play on each other?

They seem to like games and game shows.

I do not have time to figure them out.

He messed with the wrong girl, that’s all I know.

And I am now free to begin plotting.