There are memories which feel almost tangible
They weigh heavily like stones
Like the dark moss carpet
And the night shadows through the frosted front door
Different to the friendly figures I might have imagined on my bedroom walls
It feels as though I’m waiting
I remember feeling that intensely
Held deep inside. Waiting and fearful
It was almost superstition
My life
Try to be good. Not to anger, or anger them
Not to be bad
And I felt so hideously wrong
Filthy
As the memories come flooding back
The white mottle of the street lights through the trees outside
I spent hours awake watching those walls at night
Why can’t I remember?
Why this fear, blistering every cell?
What came in those shadows I feel?
It’s uncanny after such trepidation of touch
To long to be held
There used to be such a burden of filth and hatred in me. Thick and screaming
Rarely have I been able to let someone hold onto me among these whispered shrieks
I flinched at every impact. The room
Felt too near my childhood
It’s a calculated leap
And I am ready for the fall
Nobody leaves at the worst times
It’s later as the sun fades the night away
Perhaps, as we have long since learned
The gospel chanted and scribbled early on the walls of those young years is falacy
But still nobody stays
It’s not the old wounds that smart and sting
But the new, raw skin still longing to trust their exposure
Maybe there was love then
But now it is different
I still want it, despite myself
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