The flow of a child, ink, charcoal, graphite, paper, CKS

The flow of the sacred?

what a child did not know

I can feel my childhood just below my skin; chilling despairs of boogie men and ghosts; tales of death and cold buried beneath my coat. I never felt happy. I never felt whole.

I cried a lot; alone in my room, in the tree, in the bush. In bathrooms and closets, running, riding, empty weekend playgrounds.

Anywhere I could be alone is where I wanted to be. It was safer there; to hide in a leafy tall tree.

I cried in utter sadness. I wanted someone to care. and yet, I pushed away. Fear kept me back.

I cried in utter sadness. I wanted someone to care. and yet, I pushed away. Fear kept me back. CKS

I remember sitting on the floor; old golden yellow carpet. looking around the room. empty; blank.

I sighed within my stuffed animals; unicorns and fairy tales. I wanted out; somewhere else. But death was a horrible thought. Nowhere else but death and yet I could not imagine dying. It was terrifying.

I thought every night I would die. Grim Reaper ghost of death angels at the bottom of my bed. My sister’s angry ghost, haunting me in my dreams and dark night terrors.

I thought every night I would die. Grim Reaper ghost of death angels at the bottom of my bed. CKS

It was a horrible feeling to feel utterly alone.

It does not matter if you have a blanket, and dry roof. It does not matter; at all. Without true love everything is cold.

Everything you touch never touches back.

CKS


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