Life As a Child to Young Adult
This is about how some childhoods aren't the same at all and how they can change you.
As a small child Everything seemed fun and alright
But as soon as we get older things changed.
Age six people used me to vent.
They didn't notice the damage it caused.
As I got older it got harder.
School wasn't any better.
Depression took hold of my mind.
Caused me pain.
As years went on it just got worse.
Hitting my teens nothing seemed to make me smile.
A laugh here a smile here.
It caused everyone to not notice.
Not notice the pain and the aches in my body.
Once hitting the age 19 finally found someone to actually make me smile and laugh for real.
But what's the point?
The point in this love?
If you can't tell them what your heart really feels?
What is the point?
If it all falls apart like in childhood
When you feel like you are falling all over again.
And that fear.
That fear of being alone comes right back to your mind.
When your brain is thinking so hard.
That the tears don't stop.
That your own heart isn't beating right.
But yet you still love.
You still want to love with every piece of that broken heart you have.
Will tape or glue fix it?
I Don't think it will.
So when you see someone ask them if they're ok
Ask them what is wrong.
Look them in the eyes.
Because no matter what the eyes will tell you the truth.
Never say to someone that they must have had an awesome childhood because not everyone has my dears.
Learn from it.
About the Creator
Irene Rice
When you read my stories read them carefully because there are truths behind what I post that connect with my life
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Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
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