Life Beneath The Words At Play

All numbers carry a story

I was only born when the tricks started knocking on their doors. The summer sun shone, and the tension seemed low when they were both already dead because of their own damed souls.

I was only one when I fell into the snow face first. I choked and spit it out, hoping I would survive the next drop.

I was 2 when I was introduced to a new life. Another one of their dolls.

I was only 3 when I wanted someone new. I needed my comfort from the right person.

I was only 4 when I was traumatized. The creature caring for me showed me no mercy in their rage and hate.

I was only 5 when I found my comfort animal. Permanent light I could think to comfort my tears and uneasy mind.

I was only 6 when I was bullied out of the crowd. I didn't belong so I ran. I kept running. I had to run away.

I was only 7 when I felt I wasn't meant for this world. I didn't belong to the pain pouring down my face.

I was only 8 when I cried for no apparent reason. I cried for soul, but I didn't know why.

I was only 9 when I was stripped of life. I didn't want to leave, but they wanted to move away.

I was only 10 when I wanted an escape. I was moved to a new planet. I was in hell for a year. My sore burnt skin couldn't keep me together any longer.

I was only 11 when I found my way. I wished the escape would have come with a warning.

I was 12 when I dropped everything. I became my own savior.

I was 13 when I was stepped on, belittled, and ashamed. I didn't take it close to me because I knew so much better than that.

I was 14 when I disappeared into myself. The world was my living hell. I wanted to be an angel in a world on fire.

I was 15 when I had to return from my escape, but I still kept the monsters at bay. The world seemed to be less aflame.

At 16, I was introduced to a new school. A new place to make myself known for just a day. Only I disappeared again.

17 I made a mistake. I didn't regret it, but I felt so ashamed. I would see it every day as I could feel judgmental eyes on me from the girls who knew my mistake had been made.

At 18, I was free. The past behind me and it was no longer able to bite me even if it was always going to keep chasing after me. I became me.

The night I turned 19, I cried. The past came to bite. It bit harder than I thought it could, so I chewed it up and spit it back out. Now they cry in self-pity because I've moved on. I've become me, only now I'm a year stronger and a 19 years wiser than they'll ever be.

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This is a play on reality, not 100% fact of my own life. I wanted to paint a picture of a person who grew up in abuse and got and started healing and getting through  their short life. This is just a retelling of finding yourself through the years despite the hurt past You drag behind.