In Memory

My memory is weak.
Except when it comes to remembering everything that happened.
It is all there.
I remember the pipes.
I remember the meth baggies.
I remember the strange people in and out of the house.
I remember feeling extra shy around the strange men that felt too close.
I remember the physical pain my dad caused my mom.
I remember being scared and living in a motel.
I remember not even knowing if we would have a place to live.
I remember Disneyland, and leaving because she was smoking her pipe.
I remember seeing them both cry.
I remember watching my dad drive away on my birthday.
I remember she was mad when we spent her meth money on dinner.
I remember constantly waking up to loud noises.
Because she snuck him in again.
I remember not seeing my mom because she was in jail.
Or in the hospital.
I remember moving school so many times and not having friends.
Because I did not have time to make them.
The one place I thought I would be safe.
I was molested.
I remember not having anyone to talk to.
I remember crying for days or for weeks.
I remember being scared it would happen again when we went over to visit.
But still too scared to speak up.
I remember feeling raped.
I remember not telling anyone, again.
I remember that same fear.
I remember not having anyone to talk to.
Because they do not understand.
It is all in the past.
It is all just memories.