childhood.

sometimes,

when hearing about other people's childhoods,

I go into this place;

a dark place where I zone out from their words and clutch my skin in despair.

and when asked for my experiences,

I spurt out some make believe story of happy moments - after all I have those on speed dial - ready for moments exactly like this.

but they will never know the horrifying truth,

because I will not tell them,

I will keep it hidden between the spaces of my mind,

pressed right to the back where it can harm no one else.

it hurts too much to admit that I don't remember the good things,

half my life is blacked out,

hidden in the depths of my hellish mind,

the bitter memories surface when I least expect them to.

but I am normal, normal, normal;

the ghosts can stay detached from me, trapped in a past that I desperately wish to forget.