The Sponge
K.J. Johnson
A tumultuous classroom,
Overturned desks and broken chairs,
A childhood, surrounded by crumbling walls,
Constant ringing in my ears,
Soothed only by raised voices and confrontation,
Tainted lessons of relationships bred from dysfunction,
Right and wrong delivered in reverse,
Mistakes and short-comings met with bruises,
Growing pains they say,
Seeking distractions from toys and television shows,
That could never understand,
The perpetually fresh wounds of my every day,
I tell you this not for sympathy,
Seeking no amount of consolation,
For when you wring me out,
Watching my scars, tears and blood shower the floor,
Your questions have already been answered.
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