By the time I opened my mouth to breathe, the surface of the murky water was already years above my upturned face. The scream shredding its way from the depths of my lungs gripped my throat, and with a will I'd never known I had, I swallowed it and closed my eyes.
I didn't ask for the blows dealt me. I didn't ask to have my childhood torn from my hands. I didn't volunteer my innocence. No one asked when my naivety was stolen from me.
I didn't ask to be uprooted; I didn't ask to have my friends taken or to have to rebuild my life.
I never wanted the negativity. I didn't want the years of confusion, I didn't want the sleepless nights, the hungry days, the angry outbursts, the lonely tears, the vicious tongue or the calloused hands.
I don't want these scars. I don't want these memories. I want to forget the smells, the loss, the consuming anger.
I want back the life I was promised.
I want to mend the seeping wounds that have tracked their way through the recesses of my mind.
I want the ghosts to stop biding their time in the shadows, watching for cracks in my defense.
I want to walk without the tangled purgatorial chains on my ankles weighing down each step forward.
I ache for freedom.
I weep for peace.
