Ghosts of my childhood

TW/CW: Abuse

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The ghosts of my childhood dance around my childhood home. 

I know every trace of each room, every crevice to sneak in, every hiding spot. 

The shadow of 7-year-old me haunts me,

Reminding me of the time I clutched my baby sister under the dinner table,

Selfishly using her as my shield from danger. 

Hiding from my inevitable downfall, Waiting for the bamboo stick.

She wouldn’t hit a baby, 

I tell myself. 

It doesn’t work. 

The bruises become purple over time

And then they eventually fade 

Like I made it all up. 

In the master bedroom, my mom plays with my hair gently 

Like she wasn’t the one I was hiding from, 

Like I made it all up.

“It’s all about balance,” 

She tells me as she brushes through my thin hair. 

“You’ll understand when you have a family of your own,” 

She says as she gathers all of my hair in one hand. 

If I could make the ghosts disappear, then my childhood would disappear.