Confessions of a Bleeding Memory

At a young age, I lived a lot of adversities, I witness their needles and bent burnt spoons, I saw them inject their evil poison into their arms, and as it entered their blood stream, I ran away, not quickly for my life, but slowly to my dreams. I spent hours among the shaded walnut groves, pretending the vacant fields were my home, instead of the broken picture, framed neatly on the paper-thin wall. Today, these moments haunt my mind, I’I have tried to forget them – but instead, I forgot all my birthdays and my laughs, our trip to the beach … my innocence, but I remember vividly … her blood, splashed against my pale face, and then his hand ... taking its place back to the steering wheel, driving us slowly to the hospital, where my tiny blood-stained body, was exposed to a police officers camera lens. During those days I saw nothing of smiles, except those of the worn dolls I told my secrets to. I was so lonely at seven, wondering where my parents had gone, at night I made dinner for my sisters, then tucked them in for bed. The sun would rise and I would wake myself up for the 2nd grade, hoping that they would be okay without me. I look back at all the bruises & all the days of their blood shot eyes, All their sleepless nights and endless "hobbies", And wonder how I ever survived raising myself … I still remember every detail of every pain filled day of my youth, Except for maybe the day … the child inside me died.