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