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When I was 6, I went to you.

You washed away my tears and drowned out the screams.

You were my only escape from the real world.

I dreamt of princesses that fought evil.

 

When I was 10, I went to you.

When I had no one to talk to.

When my whole world was dark and I didn't want to live anymore.

I dreamt of kids with crazy families and mean older brothers.

 

When I was 15, I stopped going to you.

Because I was so mentally weak,

I couldn't bother to pick up another book.

I dreamt of darkness and heard constant screams of pain.

 

When I was 17, I went to you.

And although you couldn't physically speak,

You told me you were proud I was alive.

I dreamt of protagonists that stood up for themselves and escaped their minds.

 

Now I am 19, hopefully on my final push.

Needing to escape the oppression around me,

Just wanting to survive.

I dream of a happy life where I can love myself.