Black and White Memory

I listened to an old song.
It’s been five years passed…
It took me back
to when I was only 13.
For being so young, I was so haunted.
The world was black and white.
I lived in Arizona
but even the rays of lightcouldn’t 
penetrate my dark cloud.
I liked it that way.
I was a demon.
I was just beginning to play with trouble.
I was twisted, and I enjoyed it.
I feel it again, as if it were only yesterday.
I’m transported to my little room.
 Always dark.
Door always shut.
Nothing beyond that little box.
That little cage I kept myself in.
And the bulky TV that rested on the nightstand.
I’d play video games for hours.
My escape from the world.
The black and white picture
because the cords didn’t work right.
And the static fuzz when everything was disconnected.
I used to sit there, for lengths at a timeand stare at that static.Buzz, hum, a white noise lullaby.
I liked violence.
I had a troubled mind.
But it’s all I had at the time.
So when I jump back to that placefrom this song I’ve rediscovered,
It’s a comfort.
I remember when I came back to California,after two months of being there.
I sat on the plane, changed.I looked at what I was wearing-thick black eyeliner, skinny jeans,a hoodie with gloved hands. A gothic style.Such a contrast to my earlier childhoodof carefree and pink.What would everyone think?
Back to the light. Back to the colorful.I cried. I cried for about a week in grief.My soul missed the darkness.I was addicted to being down.It’s as if the dark was my lightand the light was my dark.So backwards. 
Now here I am.
I can set that part free.
Set free those memories.
Because now I’m not young and naive.
I’m older, wiser, and happy.
Life has color. 
Words have meaning.
I’m not a child of black and white.
I’m a woman of beauty and light. 


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