I don’t want to think about it.

Just want to let it go.

Leave it alone,

deny that it even exists.

I can’t move on,

holding a fist around it.

Straining to reach

the next thing I need,

but I just

can’t seem to let go.

 

Child of fear

and violent entity.

Child of demon dreams

and stomach pains.

Child of curiosity

at horrors you were shown.

Child of a broken home,

why can’t I let go?

 

The older I get,

the more it all makes sense.

I get better,

but in some ways I regress.

Will I ever not be,

at least is some part,

that scared little boy?

 

When the fear gave way to rage,

alcohol to fuel the flames,

all the drugs to numb the pain,

but none of it worked

for long,

all it did was help me slide

further into darkness.

 

I was saved.

Rescued.

Here I am now,

still contemplating this

person I’ve become,

still wondering

how I can be done

with my painful legacy.

 

Haunted by the ghost

of who I used to be.

That little boy

stares at me from the past

and cries,

“What have you done to me?”

I want to hide,

but I cannot

give up on him.

Oh, no.

Not again.

 

 

HG – 2021