where the music ends

in nightmares his hands still find me
yankin me from shallow sleep
into that familiar panic
calculatin what I’ve done wrong
before I’m even fully conscious

I am grown now
and the weight that taught me vigilance
shadows every moment of rest
my mind hangin tight to the echoes
of everythin I try to forget

the piano both war zone and sanctuary
where his fury translated
into somethin I could measure
somethin I could count
and eventually master

shoulders back eyes forward
his voice follows my posture
hand of a ghost applyin pressure
grindin my fingers against ivory
cruelty disguised as corrections

I was a waste of space and patience
and he was the only one
who cared enough to fix me
teachin me that breakin was a requirement
for becomin whole

there are nights I sit at these keys
and wait for his hands
to fall over mine
the heavy hand of discipline
I was taught to confuse with love

then there are the nights
I play in rebellion
notes spillin free from any structure
he tried to pound into me
music speakin truths my voice cannot

in mornin’s early light
I can recognize the tools
he unknowinly gave me
how to build beauty
from the remains of pain

how to translate sufferin
into somethin that resonates
beyond myself
how the most honest parts of me
emerge when I surrender to melody

I carry his violence in my blood
and fight it in my bones
my fingers tremble with effort
to choose creation over destruction
to end the cycle I was taught to continue

the mirror shows his face in mine
a fear that sobriety can’t wash away
I’d rather silence all my songs forever
than let him play thru my hands
better no music than to become him