Duct Tape Dreams

Meant for protection—
a mask to disappear,
to move unseen—
a quiet dance in pain.

Because survival learns fast.
Getting by?
Beats getting ahead.

Stand out?
Not a chance.
Attention was a luxury
I couldn’t afford.

Back home—
empty shelves,
the repo man’s knock,
darkness thick enough to choke.
And worry—
God, the taste of it.
A bitter aftertaste
that never fades.

So I watched other families.
Slipped into kitchens not mine.
Studied their “normal.”
Tried it on like borrowed clothes.

Pieced it together—
duct tape dreams,
whatever-it-takes grit.

Then somewhere along the way,
I made it my job
to hold it all together.
To hold them together.

Oh, foolish girl—
barely holding herself
while trying to steady the whole damn house.
Smoothing every crack.
Making chaos look calm.

Because trauma doesn’t just happen.
It moves through you.
It buries itself
in silence,
in the space between the smile and the scream.

And while I was fixing them,
I forgot myself.

You hide so well,
you forget you’re hiding.
You lose you.

I lost me.

The mask I wore
became my face.

And when it finally fell—
so did the lies.

Shattered.
Crumbled.
A million little truths
hitting the floor.

Broken.
Unfixable.

Because cracks show.
And edges? They cut.

So there I was—
left with the pieces.

And a choice.

Stumble forever.
Bleed forever.
Or—
gather what’s left.

Wrap it in duct tape dreams.
Whatever-it-takes grit.
And build something real.

A mosaic.
A window
where the light comes in.

Every scar.
Every crack.
Every tear-and-tape memory—

They’re mine.

Silence was survival—
but it never saved me.

Hiding was never the answer.

No more masks.
No more duct tape dreams.

Just me