My Splattered Balloon
Happy?
I thought that's what I was for so long,
Enough to say it every time someone would ask.
But the sound of my voice would always falter as I would repeat the same sentence over and over,
Thinking to myself...
Am I telling the truth?
The truth?
Is that what that was?
Or was it just a shadow overcasting what really lied beneath the surface.
A young child crying out from within trapped inside a whirlwind of trauma, thinking you were a light in the dark buried coffin that was my life.
Hoping you would lead me to something greater, something different.
But something different is never really different, now, is it?
This different was just, you know, behind a wall.
A wall I had to break down that took a while.,
When finally, all I could see on the other side was him smiling back at me.
The smile that I will grow to learn is nothing but true, Not by a long shot.
In reality that smile was telling me all the truth I could ever know but I was blinded by the mere freedom I gained from the dungeon I graced with my presence for so long.
This newfound freedom came with a price as I was always taught nothing in life comes free and strings will always come shortly after.
This freedom came with a sense of familiarity, that sense that you're told from a young age means your soulmate, but nobody ever explained the feeling when coming from a toxic abusive childhood, that the comfort is a glimpse of the shackles I was had escaped from.
That familiar sense was just the same as my "Father",
That comfort I knew that I've grown accustomed too.
That comfort that I should have run from but instead i dove right in like a child in Willy Wonka's.
All I could hope and wish for is "This could be different",
Generational curses can be broken, can't they? Can they?
Do they ever really get broken, if one party of the two pushes for resolution
Resolution seeking help, guidance alone or as a pair
Help?
That in which both can benefit for the sake of our own sanity to rid ourselves of the burdens ours before us have bestowed upon us, to ruin us.
But can we move past when the one party of two executed mistakes that they want to move past but how when those very past moves that were moved haunt my very thoughts by day and materialize in my nightmares at night.
Without prevail the balloon in which my mind is, refills everyday with more and more thoughts of the rue that shall be my day and thus you holding the needles to burst me,
Like the redundant merry-go-round that is my life.
POP!
Copyright © Melissa Conroy | Year Posted 2023
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