I hate the word nostalgia.
It scratches the back of my throat as I say it.
The memory of a childhood.
Careless, free, happy.
Or at least, for them.
For me, it's a painful look back
To a time where I did nothing but survive
To happy moments
That were filled with silent rage and tears
Is comfort really comfort
If you know it's temporary?
Because,
I don't remember the last time I was carefree
Oblivious, yes. But not carefree.
I didn't know what was happening,
But I knew how I felt.
Unsafe, abandoned, cold and confused.
The pink walls of my childhood bedroom
The princess stickers on the walls
They they see what was going on?
Or did they close their eyes too?
Jan 3, 2024
Jan 3, 2024 at 6:32 PM UTC
I hate the word nostalgia.
It scratches the back of my throat as I say it.
The memory of a childhood.
Careless, free, happy.
Or at least, for them.
For me, it's a painful look back
To a time where I did nothing but survive
To happy moments
That were filled with silent rage and tears
Is comfort really comfort
If you know it's temporary?
Because,
I don't remember the last time I was carefree
Oblivious, yes. But not carefree.
I didn't know what was happening,
But I knew how I felt.
Unsafe, abandoned, cold and confused.
The pink walls of my childhood bedroom
The princess stickers on the walls
They they see what was going on?
Or did they close their eyes too?
it's not even really a poem, I needed to get my thoughts out.