Peanut butter and hell, see
That's what waits for me
When I seek to dive into memories
Of childhood, and those painful days
Diving in hurts because I land on solid gold
Because those memories are a virtual treasure trove
Of embarrassment and shame
Of hating who I was and wishing for a different name
When I played house by myself
I always ended up knelt in front of my imaginary pets
Because even in imaginationland I couldn't count on friends
In my playtime house I ate alone
Feasting on too much peanut butter for one lonely boy
But no one ever rang the bell to join the boy
I'm sure they were too annoyed by him
Just like in real life, when alone with my knife
I'd cut off my crusts and hope, even trust
That someone would join my lunch table
Then I'd be able
To include in my playtime house
A friend or a neighbor
Besides just my couch, because ouch
Loneliness stung
I was desperate for someone
Recess tore me to pieces because at day's end
I would send prayers to the clouds and tears to the ground
Words were the worst
That pain always comes first
When I think back to the days
Of "excuse me, do you think I could play?"
Followed always by that sharp "No, just go away"
Kids are kids, and they didn't mean too much harm
I comfort myself with that now, and rub the scars on my arms
I would get lost in books
Because they would be friends
At least for a while
But they all met their end
I was never included, when these books concluded
I had to close them
All my friends were just in my head
It wasn't fair then, looking back at crying me
He was so young and so smart
He had the biggest heart I've ever seen
He just wanted someone to care about him
A smile, a fist bump, or a hug to let him in
He found his self worth in his brain
All he was was his grades
Let all the other kids make friends with each other and play
No one ever came then, and they've all walked out now
I did find friends to share sandwiches with
Now they're nowhere to be found
I guess this was bound to happen at one point or another
I've only ever seen myself as just a lot of trouble
It's funny how
Now, I can't even stand peanut butter
Even with the crusts cut off
All the other kids scoffed at me anyway
When they walked past with their school-bought lunch trays
Now do you understand why
I hate my memories?
Because to me
Peanut butter will always be
Why I lived in hell, see?
YOU ARE READING
Time Alone
ПоэзияWhy do I write? Half to save my life, half in an effort to explain what makes life ugly, difficult, dreadful, and indescribably worthwhile. (Of course it's about a girl) This is what I learn in my time alone.
