At 1, I pronounced the syllable for the first time.
At 2, I held your hand everywhere I went.
At 3, I'd cry if you weren't around.
At 4, I'd practice my alphabets only with you.
At 7, you promised you'd always take care of me.
At 8, I understood that better.
At 10, it hurt.
At 15, it was our secret.
At 17, you said its okay for it to hurt.
At 19, you freaked when I bled.
I thought you said it was okay?
Dad, I thought you said you'd take care of me always.
YOU ARE READING
Echo of Thoughts
PoetryPoetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that hurt. It is a matter of life not just a matter of language... Breathe in experience, breathe out poetry....
