i did not have a childhood

or, not a real one.
it feels hazy, lost, scattered
its—

like the static of a broken tv
unable to find a signal—
like the scratches of a broken record
struggling to piece together swing music—
like the fading of an ancient polaroid
lacking its vibrance and unable to keep its picture—

my memories are a black and white movie,
reminiscent of the old hollywood of
elizabeth taylor and montgomery clift—
a film in which i am being played by someone else.

(sidenote: if i could choose anyone to play me in a film, i would choose james dean)

but, i am numb.

i did not have a childhood.