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Find me? / 26 January 2014

Woke up, got dressed, straight out to play
used to wonder what I'll find that day?
I could go anywhere, be home when I like
no one will notice if I'm not back till night.
I travelled and wandered, imagination gone mad
been my own secret agent, a spy, not a lad.

With scabs on my knees and scrapes up my arms
I'd wander through fields and trespass on farms.
Climbing tall trees and walking on walls
Lost in a bubble, no real thought about falls.
Talking to strangers, I trust everyone
creating adventures, a bundle of fun.

Getting home gone eleven and knocking the door
"where the hell have you been?" his shout turns to a roar.  
As he smacks, kicks and belts me, his anger gone wild
I can still feel the bruises, a small battered child.
From this I learnt how to get by and survive
to shrug off the beatings, to learn how to hide
away in my head in a place that was mine
my own fantasy world, my own little shrine.

But when you get older the boundaries merge
and real life and fantasy start to converge.
What's safe when in childhood confuses with age
with billowing cloud banks obscuring the stage.
My bi-polar reflections are what I have left
of my childs way of hiding, when feeling bereft.
And the safe place is fantasy, here in my head
but what if he's lost there, alone, full of dread?

So, will somebody find me when I do get lost
in that fantasy world into which I get tossed
when things get too frantic and life starts to blur
when emotions and feelings are given a stir
with the big spoon of madness thrust into my mind
as  the frail thread of sanity starts to unwind.

Will somebody find me?