I think this post says the things that I cannot say aloud, but anger has brought it back again.
As a child, I got mad
Being blamed that I was bad.
Then I’d run away and cry,
For the real child that was sad.
Didn’t want the tears to show,
Because then they would know.
I wanted no one to really see,
What was happening inside of me.
Both in my body and my mind,
How could they be so blind.
That anger is still in there,
The exact spot I don’t know where.
Tucked away real down deep,
Where forever I try to keep.
Not just anger, but rage,
That I was hurt at such a young age.
But there was no one I could tell,
Or I’d really catch hell.
That child’s mind, oh so young,
Couldn’t tell that what was done,
The anger would well up inside of me.
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