What if I admit I was abused and all you think of me is a victim. Just like that one house that hasn't been the same since the murder was committed. That was once a home a place people used to laugh in and tell stories and have Christmas dinners in and now it is reduced to a crime scene nothing more. We don't talk about the babies first steps in that house we don't talk about the beautiful minds that touched every inch of that house we talk about the crime about the horrific injustice. That house will only be known for one thing just like I might only be known for one thing. I can't let this one thing reduce me just like that house there's so much more so much more they could offer but unfortunately, I don't have as much time as that house. In 50 years maybe the next generation won't know then they'll start a family there and they'll be able to change the narrative. I don't know if anyone will ever want to change the narrative with me. I think people like seeing me broken like seeing the house as broken they like being reminded that evil exists. When they drive by they get chills when people walk past me it's the same thing. When people talk about me they can only seem to talk about the one thing just like that house I am reduced to one thing. I am reduced to a victim just like that house there's so much more to me but people won't try to find it because they're scared but who wouldn't be.
YOU ARE READING
The live's I've lived
PoetryThis is a collection of poems and pieces of writing. That I have written over the last 2 years of my life. I've never been one to actually live. To take the risk. A lot of the things I have written are about things that have happened in my head. Or...
