The glass shattered; she watched roasted peanuts spill all over the floor; her little dark skin shivered in fear as she held her breath, hoping the fight was over, but it wasn't. It NEVER was. Night after night, weekends, weekdays, holidays, every fucking day. She followed her guardian from church to church, seeking some divine intervention; if God himself could see to it that she felt safer in her own home, that her little 7yr old self worried about what little girls should be worrying about, not when the more shattered glass will jolt her peace. Peace was a word that she wasn't entirely comfortable with because she had no idea what that was. Her cousin came to visit. 'She loves Jesus, so maybe she can bring healing to this broken home,' she mocked the situation instead. Everyone handles fear differently. The preachers anointed her gaurdian as she joined the crowd, praying that things would change; they read bible verses screaming in tongues, weeping for divine intervention on their knees, then Silence. The Silence was louder than the screaming in tongues, mainly when she laid down and relived all her trauma. She eventually got older and went to a faraway school in hopes that she'd find her peace. Still, the loud Silence traveled faster than she did, moved in before she did, and her little 9yr old self felt restless, unheard, unseen, and a little out of place -she never could take the time to understand her true self because of how rowdy her internal persons were.