A poem from when I was 11
Pain running through my body, spreading quicker then blood.
Tear strained pillow, from the memories of yesterday.
The horror show on reply, like it was trying to murder me.
My mind asking me, wondering, if I had got up and tried to fight that night would things be alright? If when they shouting started, had I walked downstairs would things still be alright?
I watched as your tears flowed, your words becoming stuck, like someone was straggling you.
The words you said, the goodbye, it was a perfect cocktail for destruction, to break our tiny hearts.
We listened to your goodbye, my heart shattering into pieces the shards threatening to stab me, and finish me off, I prayed they would.
I watched you walk away, I screamed inside why? I don’t deserve this, no child deserves this.
We were taken, moved away, to a foreign place that felt like a prison this is no home.
I looked around, the rooms so small, so simple, so annoying, why is this place so annoying? I screamed pulling my hair, what is this place?
I don’t know this place, yet it is driving me insane, it is making me want to scream at it, it makes me want to run away, it makes me feel like I can’t be free.
Why couldn’t we have stayed with you? Life was not that bad, at times yes, I wondered why god had given me this family, but it was a family, this now is nothing.
This is broken, dismantled, and battered, this is not a family no more, it is shards thrown all over, and bits and pieces lost along the way, as the moving van hit pot holes throwing pieces out, we are no longer a family.
I know we will see you again, that is true, but right now, this place, this world, this non existent family, makes me feel like I have no control, like I am just the child I am.
A child that can not mend this broken mirror, to fix our reflection, a child that can not put together pieces of a family portrait to make our family look perfect again.
I am just a child, thrown in to a situation I have no say in, I watch as others are happy life so perfect, and in my childhood years I have only had gloom, wretchedness and suffering, yet I still get more.
Can I give up so young? The broken shards of this family cut me to shreds, I have now bled dry there is nothing left inside me, can I give up?