Kids ride down the street,
On razor scooters and bicycles
As I am reminded again
Of the childhood I missed out on.
Of the childhood that was stolen from me.

I remember our small house,
In a large neighborhood,
Filled with adults and children alike.
And how, although we lived together,
My parents never felt like family.

I remember playing with the other kids,
Running through houses and yards,
Creating our own games, our own stories.
Pretending to be cowboys, or astronauts;
Anything we were not.

I remember the fights.
Screaming and yelling and slamming doors,
The brutal, tear-filled aftermaths,
Harsh words that could not be unsaid.
My bruises, her bruises, his bruises.

I remember the first time it really snowed.
My fondest memory; icy and unforgiving.
We had built an army, one under our command,
Snowmen dressed with coal eyes and carrot noses.
We thought - hoped - that they could protect us.

I remember my parents,
I remember the cold nights and long days.
I think, if I could see them again
I would thank them for my memories.
Even the not-so-great ones.

I remember my childhood.
I remember my “family”.
I remember our neighbors, and their children.
I remember the fun, the fights, the fear.
I remember thinking: “is this how’s it’s supposed to be?”

These memories have engrained themselves in my mind,
Things I can never forget
This childhood that was supposed to be mine.
Yeah, I remember;
And I wish I could get it all back.