slamagainstchildabuse
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I remember that little doll
Up there on the shelf
That tiny gold buddha
That took me somewhere else
Once I saw that little man
So calm and full of peace
I found serenity on my own
The first time I held a book, I was a mere three years of age.
I had no idea what the imprinted words on the book meant,
Only, that I wanted to read them, know them, understand them.
How did it feel to wrap your hands around him and strip his innocence like meat off the bone? How does it feel to know that for fifteen years you left his mind in constant fear? You surround yourself with broken dreams and the tears of children.
