Express The Distress

deception

Mama said to play nice.

You smiled then like a sweet little boy, but I knew better. That smile was malice, silence before the brewing storm.

We played in the sandbox, your toy dump trucks askew for sharing, except they weren't for sharing.

Mama left and you took all the toy trucks for your use only. You said they were yours as you ripped the hard plastic out of my hands leaving scarlet indents on my pale summer palms.

I pulled, you pulled, I lost, you won.

Weak you said.

I wanted to yell at you, to scream at you, but my quivering lips only leaked silence. Instead tears of salt stained my crimson red cheeks, my hands trembling madly. Weak echoing my sensitive ears.

You never played nice.

When it got hot we went inside to get popsicles. Cherry red was my favorite and you knew it.

You snatched the popsicle out of my hands with cruel curved lips, took a bite and spit it at my face laughing.

I touched my cheek knowing I could do nothing and it made me beyond sad.

You devoured my cherry treat, smearing your lips a bloody red, dripping liquid sugar down your chin. You enjoyed every once of happiness you drained out of me.

Mama thought you were a good boy.

But I knew you were a truck stealing/no sharing/name calling/bad boy.

You were mama's mean boy, my feeling hurting boy.