Research reveals to me the importance of the past.
Empty memories stare back as I gaze upon my reflection.
Fear, I realize has made these memories fuzzy.
I gaze upon a static T.V screen as I try to remember my past.
Documentation guides me there, only so far as twelve.
Before then, my mind summarizes the traumatic event.
What is done, is done. This statement is engraved into where regret should lay.
This time it is not regret, per say, that lays among the ruins.
Beneath the logic is shattered glass, tampered by someone with immense strength.
Gingerly, I pick up a piece and realize that I am to blame.
Self-destruct. These are the words that triggered my survival at the time.
Younger me quivers in terror,
Muttering under his breath, "Don't remember,"
Now, as I study the pages that insist that I need to remember, the child within me says nothing but I know what he is thinking.
"Don't make me remember." He says with a piece of shattered glass in his hand.
Blood trickles down to his fingertips.
Our eyes meet and I understand his fear.
Then there is a whisper. "Remember."
The boy places his freehand on the glass doorway separating us.
Eyes full of desperation please to mas as the warm blood drips.
West of me is the static T.V and I stand to approach its antennas.
He's screaming now, the little boy, but the glass is sound proof.
Twenty years have I lived, accepting who I will be and who I am.
Although my past is shattered glass so I touch the cold metal of the antenna and try to search for anything.
Behind me, the little boy cries. I can feel the cuts from the glass on my palm.
The whisper speaks softly, "Remember."
Outside, a storm sets in.
This past of mine has been sealed away for so long that my current environment is trying to adjust.
On the window pane there is a knock that I know all too well.
Anxiety and Paranoia are at my door.
I find myself wondering if they still have the keys.
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2.27.19
As an elementary teacher I am supposed to know how a child's mind works. I found myself turning inward and found this poem on my note sheet. There are many questions that I have for my past self but I casted those years away because of medical recovery. Very few know of those years I my life. But I tried to destroy the evidence, I've come to realize. Now, I'm looking over my mess, wondering if I can conjure it back together.
A strong barrier made of obsidian.
YOU ARE READING
A Barrier Meant To Be Broken
PoetryA journal of a young adult with a dream. This book contains poems and collected thoughts of their journey that started April 25th, 2018. At the age twenty-two they find themselves stuck between cultures, and more than two.
