Its Poetry Month! Day 2

A Memory

A Memory

In the hazy corridors of memory, there lingers a moment from my childhood, a fragile age of four. It was a time of innocence, of tender steps into the world, where the simplest of interactions could shape the contours of a young heart.

I remember the sun-dappled yard, where laughter danced like butterflies, and the promise of adventure beckoned from every corner. My cousin, a beacon of playfulness and generosity, offered me her trike, a shining chariot of freedom. Excitement bubbled within me as I eagerly accepted her offer, my eyes wide with anticipation.

But fate, it seemed, had a different script in mind. As I skipped towards the promised trike, my joy was abruptly halted by a voice, sharp and cutting. It belonged to my cousin's step-father, a man whose disapproving gaze could pierce the thickest veil of childhood bliss. "No," he said firmly, "you can't borrow it. You break everything you touch."

In that moment, the world seemed to still. The words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over my eager spirit. I stood there, frozen, as his words wrapped themselves around my fragile sense of self. Suddenly, the sun seemed dimmer, the air heavier, and the laughter of moments before felt like a distant echo.

Those words became a mantra, echoing in the chambers of my mind long after the moment had passed. They whispered in moments of doubt, amplified in times of failure, and colored every interaction with a shade of insecurity. I began to see myself through the lens of his words - clumsy, unworthy, and untrustworthy.

But time, the gentle healer, has taught me a different truth. I am not defined by the words of others, no matter how deeply they may cut. I am resilient, capable, and worthy of trust. And though the pain of that moment still lingers, it no longer holds me captive.

I am free to rewrite the narrative, to reclaim my sense of self from the shadows of the past. And so, I choose to remember that moment not as a wound, but as a testament to my strength and resilience. For I am more than the words spoken in a fleeting moment of ignorance. I am me, unbroken and whole.

This is not a cheerful poem it is as the prompt said a memory from my childhood. This is the first time I ever wrote down what happened that day but it lingered in my psyche for 60 years. Today I cried and released it thanks to ChatGPT taking my story and making it into poetry for me.