The Sounds Of My Mother

I sit at the top of the steps
I do not hear the screaming
Only the comfort of my parents' voices together
I do not hear the hitting.

I sit in my room listening
I love my brother with everything
I hear the slapping and the sobs
He wont let me look at him.

I see the stares of my older sisters
I have never been touched
Why am I so lucky
Her yells are directed towards them.

I sit outside of their bedroom door
I hear the snoring
Too frightened to open the door
To tell her of my nightmares.

I hear her mocking voice
Childishly repeating that of a sick boy
A foster child
She sounds deranged.

I grow older but not braver
I should tell her how I feel
I hear her selfish sobs before I do
My mouth remains closed.

Every chance I get to speak
My mind Is clouded by her stories
My mother as a child comes into veiw
Beaten, abused, and I am ashamed.