Children of Sorrow

i had parents who drank and gambled and fought. and slowly those nights turned around so that things could never be the way that they were before. a child in limbo. between the days of small childness and nights of knowing childness. a layer of atmosphere just big enough for a seven year old girl. i imagine now how it would have felt if i were born on a different day, in a different year, a different house on a different street. the shift. i could have walked through a childhood full of secure dreams, firmly rooting my feet and ankles in a future already bought. i miss the danger of being young i try to feel that anticipation again, not knowing whats waiting around the corner. thinking of adventure and exploration. i try to discard the feelings of dread, of never knowing whats waiting for me when i get home. expecting rage and degradation. my brain cant balance on this tight-rope, this wanting and knowing and fear. i miss the danger of being young... of being naive, green, a little wet behind the ears. of being sweet and untainted just wishing life would begin. of being perfectly ignorant and loving it, a part of the greatest unknowing. i miss the danger of being young and loved and safe and not expecting the world to fall apart. not yet, not yet.