I don’t know you, but I remember you.

I remember what had happened in the backyard of their house.

I remember what you did, what you tried to do.

Both of you.

You’re nothing but a foggy memory that I tried to forget, and for a time did. 

I had forgotten from kindergarten till seventh grade, then it all came back.

After him. 

The memory haunts me now when I lay alone in my bed questioning if I’m a person or an object.

I shouldn’t have gone through that as a child, but it happened and I did. 

And nothing stops my brain from reminding me.

Reminding me that I am an object.

A person that would give anything for a slice of attention from anyone. 

And it hurts, hurts to know it’s true.

That I’m nothing but a desperate person that was taken away from the world hidden away in a room.

But from that day on I was quiet. 

Because that day I screamed and it stopped. 

But when I scream now it doesn’t stop. 

The pushing doesn’t stop at the word no, then the memory comes back.

Back from the very start with you.

I don’t know you, but I remember you.

I remember what happened and moments leading up.

I remember what you accomplished without meaning to. 

Screw you foggy men from my memory