It was a land long forgotten

Just on the edges of reason

But where sanity took the front seat

And reality, the back.

A path I had taken hundreds of times

So many that nary a weed grew on it

A place where I didn’t have to think

About anything I didn’t want to.

This was my ‘escape’ that I built for myself

With my own two hands.

Nobody assisted

Nobody was allowed to enter

And certainly, nobody was there.

 

All lit up is a room

With nothing but candles

One of those old time desks

With a wooden chair

A pen

A notebook

And just enough nicknacks strewn around

To keep my ADD at bay.

In this room

I am not a daughter to anyone

Nobody ever gave me away

Nobody ever walked away from me

Because I believe

Only want what I want

Which is nothing

In my world.

 

Tried and true is this method

This method of escape for me

As it has been here

Since I was 8

And God refused my plea

To die.

 

To my left is a picture of Jesus

That a candle lights up perfectly

So I can see the face of the only man

That up to recently

I believed loved me.

 

This, this one room

Where I didn’t have to feel grateful

For being adopted.

I could be pissed off

I could not understand

And nobody questioned it

Nobody made me feel badly

Because I wasn’t grateful

For being passed around.

 

The room is the only place

Where I can write about whatever I want

I can sit and talk to my picture of Jesus

Asking him questions about everything

And feel his response.

It is where I can dance in the rain

Or eat a dandelion.

Where I can write that people are stupid

For killing them

When they are a flower too.

Where I can relate to that dandelion

For people thinking it is a weed

Because when I was a child

I was that weed.

 

Today I went to this room

As I have hundreds of times

I saw it from a different light.

I was hiding

Like everyone wanted me to

As if society didn’t want to hear what I had to say

Or the family didn’t want to hear what I had to say

So I made myself a comfortable room

Where I could say it

Without being penalized.

 

As I wander around the room

Remembering sitting in certain places

Or bringing something new in

I realized that I don’t want to hide anymore

That if people don’t want to hear

Me

Then they will have to stand far enough away

To not hear it.

 

I’ll bring in another chair

For him

So we can sit and I can tell him about this room

About what it has meant to me

Over the past nearly 40 years

But I’ll never hide in it again.

 

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