IÂ have never known innocence.
It has been pain and loss and death
since before I could store a memory.
And now I am asked to be normal.
I am asked to pretend
that my childhood
was warm and innocent.
Innocence was ripped away
at the age of six,
surrounded by hands
and pleas and tears
and blood to be kept secret.
But begging never gets you anywhere.
Innocence was ripped away
as I laid next to my best friend
at the age of 13
whose heart had stopped beating,
while mine took
just a bit too long
to cease.
Innocence was ripped away
with the last words she heard from me,
“I forgive you, mom.”
I was 14.
Innocence has been ripped away from me
every time I walk that hall.
Ready to say goodbye
to yet another friend
who had more guts than I do.
Innocence was ripped away
when I saw
that others around me
have all lost
their will to live.
My innocence was taken,
when I lost mine, too.