Memory

Memoir, the younger years fade.

I remember when I was 8, I was really into books, and barbies. When I didn't criticize my legs in skirts. I remember when scars were from falling off your bike, or sliding off of a swing. Life was simple, easy, happy. I was careless and free. Then I grew up, and my parents weren't dancing anymore, no, the words leaving their lips were like knives. They tore each other apart. They tore me apart, and as I got older I tore my self apart. I stopped playing with my barbies, and realized no one was nice to you unless you looked like one. I could never bring my self to understand why you wouldn't want to get to know someone because they looked a certain way; I vowed that I would never judge people. Why should I? I wouldn't want them to judge me. I remember when I was 13 and I had feelings for a boy, and I thought he was the most wonderful thing in the world. I remember talking to him in class. I remember carless flirtation. Then I sobered up my mind, and realized it wasn't me he liked. And then I wondered why he didn't like me; was it my hair? my clothes? And it made me not like me.

Author's Note

Sad.