These are the days when my childhood haunts me; when my hips ache like they’ve been beaten with a mallet; when my neck goes tight all the way down to my lower back, and the irritation sits deep in my throat. These are the days I hold private, away from the possibilities of careless minds. These are the days I ask why they did that to me as a child, leaving me with sporadic days where my sacrum cries out in pain from the shatters, and I struggle to move myself around, when all I want to do is keep my legs propped up to relieve the pressure from my hips. When physical pain is a result of childhood beatings, and there is no cure, a rage fills you, because you didnt consent to be broken. So I go quiet, and I cry through it, and then I rise the fuck back up.
I do so love to laugh. I love cynical, dry humor. I’m your “Running With Scissors” or “Mary and Max” type gal. Give me a dysfunction giggle any day. I get it all the way.
In the midst of laughter I feel a seriousness settled into me. I don’t have time to play around. That is not to be confused with not having time to play. I just don’t have time to waste.
There is no available brain space for saucy bullshit dramas, games or power struggles, wars with others or anything less than true seriousness in regards to life changes I have made and where I intend to go.
To know where I come from even as an adult, is to understand the totality of the word change for me.
I am engaged in news which matters to me, as parents continue to abuse and indoctrinate. I can’t turn my eyes away from the children. They linger. They will be in power when I am aged. What a thrill it would be to pass dimensions with knowing a group of them have their shit together.
I don’t feel passive.
Time is passing.
Life feels serious.
They are hurting. They own my heart.
and maybe that’s why its never fully available to give away to anyone else.
Knowing asks me if I ever want to come back here. I say I do not want to know. If I do I want to be a kid who gets to play. I want a mom and a dad who love each other and let me be me, play on swings and do fun things. I’ll have a name like Isabella, and I’ll have rainbow colored hair and purple eyes.
And no one will ever make cry.
I’ll swing upside down with braids in my hair.
And no one will ever touch me down there. Because I will have a mom and dad to protect me.
I will sing and sing. I’ll be on stages and play a guitar, even do art.
But I don’t know if I want to come back here ever again.