SHOEBOX

Long ago, I so easily concealed
all the pain that I have endured.
Losing my past, I moved on.

But still, I keep my shoebox filled.
I don't know why.
Though I've repressed every memory,
within my shoebox I dare to recall.

As I open Pandora's box,
brimming forth colorful images,
the hurtful memories resurface
and the hate begins to brew.

An image of my childhood,
Of fake smiles and despair,
I cannot help but look at it,
Though the daggers cut deep within.

I was only a child then,
how could you blame me, Mom?
A beating a night
for your lost love.

It was not my choice.
Daddy demanded me.
He held me tight.
I had no way out.

How could you blame me, Mom?
For, I hurt too.
But only a child,
my pains were ignored.

All these pictures are lies.
Pictures of Dad, Mom, and I,
Still shots of insecurity,
Illustrations of dysfunctionality.

We gathered together for the pose,
Then rushed apart once we said cheese.
Mom hated me. I hated dad. Dad hated us both.
Pictures are so deceiving.

No longer can I look.
Depression has sunk in.
Back in the shoebox they go
For another time to remember.