The Memories Remain

8 years old, back against the wall, begging him to stop, his hands curled into balls. He rains blows against my head, the pain starts to fade away, another memory buried, just to keep me sane. 8 years old, hiding in my room, curled up in the closet, don’t know what to do. There screaming at each other because of my mistake. Trying to drown out the noise and the blame within my brain, I hit my head against the wall to drown out all the pain. Another memory buried, yet seared within my brain. 8 years old and beaten by a cane, I didn’t get a A, and I should be ashamed. I tried to do my best, but it wasn’t good enough. The cane breaks across my lower back but the punishment is still not enough. 29 years old; yet I am 8 again. My mind is playing tricks on me, it’s all replaying in my head. I’m crying in my bedroom, begging him to stop, even though I know I’m safe my memories say I’m not. written 10/2/2020.