my restricted section: better left unread

I once thought I was the
coming-of-age story you
find in the young adult
section of the libraries,
the ones that smell like
pages and pages of
bittersweet reminiscing.

But yesterday, I dared to
be so bold as to flirt with
stale stories from my
childhood’s swan song
and I found myself in a
place long forgotten, by
the muddy creek and
footbridge I hadn’t visited
in so long; in the spot
where I let my crayfish go–
her name was Mellow –
because I couldn’t care
for her. It’s been eight
years since but I’m still
learning, because it takes
a bit longer than typical
when you’re teaching
yourself from a textbook
burnt by years of short
tempers and sharp
tongues and stormy
nights – forgive me, dear,
if I’m a bit slower than most.

And I dared to be so bold
as to keep reading what I
had forgotten was a scary
story – and I remembered
my fear as I found myself
playing tag with musty
memories of him and him
and him; in the spot where
he gathered pine cones with
his sister at dusk before
Thanksgiving dinner one year,
that first time I let someone
convince me I was special;
where he gave my lips their
first lick of toxicity – a
tummy-turning tablespoon
of disgust and emptiness,
mixed with silent pride for
being wanted and silent
shame for betraying the
girl my parents raised me
to be; and it was in this
spot where he stole a
piece of me in the dead
of the night, and I thought,
that maybe, maybe he’d
actually made me feel
alive again – after all, that’s
what he told me – but really,
he was suffocating me slowly
and I didn’t even realize.

I dared to be so bold as
to delve into my moldy
memoirs and now I know
that I am not the coming-
of-age story you find in
the young adult section;
I am the restricted one,
hidden away in the basement
because my past is painful,
and better left unread.


Comments, Questions or Concerns?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s