Memoirs From Disturbia

I remember the orange butterfly
Whose wings I tore off so it wouldn't venture to fly
And I
Happily told my sister
That this one seems to like resting on my index finger
I remember the lean kid that used to get bullied
By the boys at school
I sat with him as he cried in an empty classroom
And he gave me a red flower on Valentine's day
That I flung away
I remember the silent weeps of grandmother's cat
Her muffled moans when her little kitten
Was accidentally stepped on
And she didn't die until dusk
I remember when people looked like
Comic figures when I was a kid
How the words they uttered
Would propel across the void
And outta my grasp they would skid
I thought they were sick
When enough years have passed, I think it was then
That I knew I was not alright
I remember the white dove
That slowly got squished by a car
When she was obliviously resting in its shade
How I stayed to watch the light fade from her eyes
While she flapped her loose wing in vain
And I remember when I caught two caterpillars and
Put together in a jar to keep each other company during the night
One of them did not sleep and she ate into the other
And died inside

I remember the things that hurt the most
I wonder why, for a child, it's a bit strange
Every vision that left a scar seems as clear as the sun

And yet happy moments feel like flashes of lucid dreams
Passing scenes from a different realm
That go as soon as they come

Why is it that memories come back knocking at your door
When you least expect them
Peer through the windows
Catching your wary eyes
Demanding that you respect them

By not pretending to have forgotten.