Thinking back of childhood
fills my mind with emptiness
and a few disunited fragments
of hollow remembrances.
The young child of two
remembers some happy moments,
the seven-year old boy
remembers few trips to school.
The boy of ten remembers many events:
playing with the younger brother,
moments of loneliness and sorrow,
fear of meeting other people,
time spent in the safety of solitude.
Instead of memories I have
feelings of terror and deep sorrow:
hiding away from alcoholic rage,
being beaten and chased away from home,
being forced to sing in order to get candy,
being sent out to play with bigger boys
who enjoyed molesting me.
I remember the empty streets
of Christmas night
as I walked them alone
after being locked out.
It was snowing gently
and the snowflakes twinkled
reflecting the lights of the city.
Behind many windows I saw
Christmas trees and happy families.
For me it was cold.
I remember my pets getting killed,
my brand new toys being broken.
Things I bought with my own money
went to pieces.
In my life there was an empty space
but now it has been replaced
with unconditional love:
My reader, I love you.
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