The first 40 years of childhood are the hardest, I agree.
Passed by my elementary school the other day
trying to feel something,
to extract meaning from a small place
that was so huge to me back then.
Is it just me or did 1st grade go on forever?

I tore a hole in the butt of my jeans on the merry-go-round.
My tighty-whiteys showed.
Nobody made fun of me but I was so embarrassed.

I learned to wear surfer brand t-shirts.
I learned the pursuit of cool.
Riding the bus was insane.
Middle fingers, cusswords, rock music, and spit balls.

I was a shy and overly sensitive boy
stumbling out of his shelter
where things were perfect and safe at home
and there was no tv.

I wonder why I am the way I am.
All the time.
Exposed and raw,
wrestling within and running back and forth,
from hermit to warrior, and to hermit again.

The other day I felt the need to move on.
That it was time to put those childhood pieces behind me.
I am healing now and wounds like memories must close.
I cannot constantly scratch and bleed from within
if I want to start living in the present.

Whatever I have leftover,
like a hole in my pants,
is just there because it's a part of me.
Showing like tighty-whiteys.

09/06/2012

Author's Note: I wear boxers now that I'm a big boy.

Posted on 09/07/2012
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