Stuck at the Station

It will only be nine years, I protested
My mother drowning me in words
Crafted with lashings of guilt
Paying for my selfishness
In running away
And hiding
In camouflage

It will not change me, I promised
My teacher hugging the essay
I had written on revolution
Questioning my wisdom
In taking a gun
And fighting
For order

It will always be this way, I persisted
My best friend pondering her beer
With a large dose of doubt
Countering a naïve hope
In preserving our bond
And keeping
My innocence

It will never let me go, I accepted
My trauma stuck at the station
Growling like a lawnmower
Putting through my mind
In the quiet days
And nights
Forever