Hanged.

At some point in my youth,
the rosy cheeks and the honest eyes
became a curse that the
wretched ripped at,
like a bloodthirsty feeding
on pure innocence.
I remember the feeling,
of the decline in desire;
to care or be cared for.
Solitude was a safer companion.
Suspicious observation a far
more effective tool than the
more endearing and unflinching
curiosity that I used to have.
I stopped holding hands,
or playing sill games with other kids.
I became wary of anyone who lied to me.
And people lie all the time.
My intensity demanded truth
at all times,
regardless of who it hurt.
Clarity, is all I longed for.
How beautiful a clear road would be.
One in which I didn’t have to wear a mask,
or hold up my serrated trinkets.
One where I no longer needed to
interrogate the passers by before
feeling safe enough to let them be to my back.
So young, and so paranoid.
Say what you mean,
and mean what
you say.
I never did understand
why that proved to be such
a challenge for some.
There are no chains in truth.
No shame.