The knowledge of these histories are absent to my thoughts.
Scattered,
these individualized past roam.
Do they know of my trauma filled life?
They are oblivious, to such a degree,
that they brush my shoulder and continue right along.
Oh, how I wish that this were a dream.
But the nightmares of my history are camoflauged by a light.
Although, this light has abundant power,
these late night terrors will not be forgotten.
So, as I sit here with my head held high and a smile on my face,
my eyes prove a different story.
A story that will never be forgotten.
A never ending testimony, I will grow with.