I remember when the world belonged to me alone.
And nothing bad spread across it.
I was its creator, never scared to walk out the door,
Discover a new street, walk further and further, even after the sun had set.
In this world I felt whole.
Protected and sheltered, eager to grow and expand all my horizons.
It was the dream of a child,
With an imagination that had not yet been tampered with.
I can’t remember the first time someone came to shatter it,
To give it that initial blow,
And the fatal one, to eject me fully,
Annihilate the earth I had created with all my senses.
The act was done with purpose.
The act of adults. Of kids raised amongst the tightness of so-called reality.
They ate away my world like fire eradicates a picture without a frame.
And I never cease to re-enter the premises I had established
In my own body and mind, spread across all times and spheres.
Why did you make me a part of your prison?
What could you possibly teach me? Offer me?
I learned, close to nothing, because I knew everything as a child.
I knew what to eat.
I knew when to eat.
I knew when to run.
I knew when to cry.
I knew how to think.
I felt beloved.
By myself.
You deformed it all, depersonalised it, adjusted it to your world, not mine.
And I felt like an abomination ever since, I don’t fit.
Here, take it all back, everything I truly need is here –
Within the four elements of me.
“The Nurse” by Edvard Munch (1863-1944)
Croque-Melpomene 