My Truth In The Form Of Poetry

My Childhood Is:

My childhood is walking downstairs and asking for help with my hiccups. Dad dips a toothpick into a bottle of mint extract, and spins it in a cup of water. I drink, and my hiccups are gone.

My childhood is waking up as early as dad, and asking him to microwave me a cup of milk before he leaves for work. It is poured into my favorite sippy cup, and I go back to bed.

My childhood is hiding underneath my Eeyore blanket, giggling, waiting for Mom to find me.

My childhood is picking all the dandilions in the backyard, not letting a single yellow flower escape my grasp.

My childhood is screaming jingle bells over and over, in the middle of summer.

My childhood is knowing all the songs to different food chains, and shouting them as they pass my car window, even though I can't yet read the words on their bright neon signs.

My childhood is looking at all my collectable Barbies and wanting to touch their pretty dresses and soft hair, and elegant jewelry.

My childhood is running out of the bathroom holding my toothpaste, excited, because I can actually read the words on the container.

My childhood is tearing strips of bark off the birch tree in the front yard, and coloring, pretending to be in an ancient civilization.

My childhood is sitting on the couch, watching mom do her cross-stitching while Little Women plays on the TV.

My childhood is the texture of the balance beam on my socked foot, when I finally make it across with no assistance.

My childhood is wanting to play with my preschool graduation tassle, because the fibers are extremly tempting, and I just want to reach out and touch them.

My childhood is knowing the taste of male genitalia before I know how to hold a pencil.

My childhood is waiting for mom to park the car, so he'll finally stop touching my shoulders, or my back, or my chest, or my thighs...

My childhood is getting yelled at for trying to tickle him at his pelvis area. Wasn't he doing that to me yesterday?

My childhood is fuzzy from there.

My childhood is watching the clock, waiting for the big hand to hit six, so mommy will stop smoking her cigarette and read to me so I can avoid him.

My childhood is sitting in an empty house with no AC or running water in the middle of summer, waiting for mom to come back from the old house with the bottled water, because she forgot again.

My childhood is my teacher telling my mom that I'm too dumb to not have a mental disorder, and I should be tested for autism.

My childhood is nodding slowly when my mom says to not tell anyone I have ADHD, because I could get bullied, even though I don't really understand.

My childhood is recieving a Christmas present from the therapist is see every week, even though I'm only in the third grade.

My childhood is mostly having memories from school, because nothing bad is happening there.

My childhood is knowing that the things that are happening are wrong, but one slip of the tongue could cause me or my brother harm, so I stay quiet.

My childhood is Daddy scooping me up and putting me in my bedroom after Matthew told him and Grandpa that "He's making Katee pull her pants and underwear down."

My childhood is being told "Don't talk about this to anyone, this stays in our family," and watching him leave the house without any punishment.

My childhood is still having to be around him during a birthday party, at an indoor playground and being told "If he approaches you, just scream," like I'll be the only kid screaming.

My childhood is missing out on said birthday party, and spending time with the adults, because the fear that he'll aproach me outways the possibility of having fun.

My childhood is looking at a volunteer questionair, and seeing the words "Have you had an encounter with a Sexual Predator," and asking my dad if I should mark it, and him quicky shaking his head no.

My childhood is ruined before it even began.

My childhood is hard to even think about.

My childhood is still affecting me, to this day.

My childhood is something I want to change.