My thoughts of a fragmented Childhood Part 2

Location

Hugs are weird

Hugs are strange

I do not want a hug

No, no not now or later.

The thought of someone engulfing part of their body around mines just creeps me out.

I’ve been brooding over this issue for far too long now.

And I have come to the conclusion that physical touch for me have always been an omen.

A scare tactic used among those I do not trust.

Much like the feel of a creepy crawly, a pickle of horror running down my spine.

I do not know completely why physical touch have been my kryptonite.

Maybe I was touched as a child

Ravaged so much, done the unspeakable to.

My memory fails me, as the thoughts falter in and out

Weaving among my unconsciousness.

I want to speak out.

I just want to say something.

But no words escapes out from between my two lips.

I stay silent.

Waiting…

Hoping…

Scared and wide eyed.

All the possibilities absolutely unnerving.

Too difficult to bring up and put on display.

Maybe I was caressed and spoken to with honey milked words.

All too soft for me to deem it real.

Maybe I was touched with force

An almighty force rippling through my earth quaked center

Disrupting the peace and quiet

Leaving me tasting the fact that my body is clearly not of my own.

I lust for the security of a lovely body. Unwrapped, and unshattered.

They say childhood is the only time you are ever really innocent.

Some of us do not have a childhood.

Some of us never did.

From terror guns, nuclear bombs, militant police, war-zone place to touchy feely hands.

The girls that get shipped off during sex slavery. With no hope for a better tomorrow

Of getting away from the agony and loveless path of mutual destruction and shame

There is no candle light lite to illuminate your way.

You walk alone, blind.

You see nothing.

I see nothing past my outreach arms, my wrist, and my hands.

I see my shoe and the soil.

Dirt and sticks disturbed beneath my foot.

 Could I be dreaming?

In my nightmares I’ve dreamt of a cookie monster slipping into my room.

Wanting to capture me and take me away to its ugly, dark, evil quarters

Many times I’ve hide under the bed.

Not in reality but in my dreams.

The only place I figure I would be safe from that monsters cruel, bony fingers.

          To Be Continued …..

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741