Nostalgic you say?
You look back at slides and swings,
As if nothing but brightness became of them.
Friends & laughter,
Running free & wild,
The good old days when nothing mattered.
How could one be nostalgic,
Of something they never had?
I walked that thin, grey, concrete line.
A ghost,
Invisible.
Their mocking resounding in my memory,
Why would I mourn my past?
I was a captive,
Friendless,
Hurt,
Alone.
Family was never a way to escape,
I couldn't find peace from anguish,
Except for within Beauty.
The beauty of nature,
the beauty of writing,
The air through my hair when I swung.
How could I feel nostalgic,
When I see children playing?
Instead I conjure a prayer,
And wish that they don't end up like me.