Other

i would run, as fast as the wild river, if i ever had the chance. haphazardly, i would tear forward into nothingness, never looking down, tripping up on the razor sharp stones, feet cut up and bleeding. i would never be one of them. the family of shame, scotch and sex. of silence and isolation, fury and red-faced screaming. i never understood what they demanded of me, so i was never anyone they wanted. yet i carried their mark, the stamp of having come from some impossible horror. unable to belong to even That…. i, on my wooden swing, would stare off into the tall eucalyptus, praying that i would disappear, or become someone else’s child. or i would gaze into the clouds, wishing to live and dance in pink silk shoes in their light, airy spaciousness, like a princess of peace and beauty…..