It’s not a children’s book title, even though that’s what it sounds like.
\nBut it was where I lived as a kid. At least, some of the time.
\nWhen other people are asked about their childhood or family home,
\nMost have story after story to share,
\nHappy, sad, hilarious, or any other tinge of emotion aside, they’re there.
\nBut while others remember clearly their favorite and worst memories alike,
\nThere are very few clear pictures that emerge from my mind when I think about my childhood.
\nThe few that do appear, are usually the ones that make my heart pound, hands shake, and consciousness flee.
\nNot all, but most.
\nThose are the clear ones.
\nThe others are thin films of emotions and circumstances barely recalled,
\nLike home videos that have been faded and scratched so much they’ll barely play,
\nBut because you’ve seen them and heard them described so many times,
\nYou remember the plots and cues to laugh perfectly.<\/p>\n
The Brown House should have been a place where years of treasured memories were made,
\nAnd remembered as my treasured childhood home.
\nBut instead, those memories are haunted and tainted by the sounds of angry screaming and blows.
\nThe me who lived there would crawl into bed, or put my back into a corner, and throw a blanket over my head, clapping fists over my ears to drown it out. Anything to stop the yelling.<\/p>\n
Now, I know that I’m no longer that little girl.
\nI’m not defenseless. Not trapped. Not subject to the whims of an angry father.
\nBut sometimes I still feel like I am.
\nWhen I hear a loud noise, or people arguing, or even just feel someone annoyed nearby,
\nI feel like I’m trapped within my own head again, or back at the Brown House.
\nEvery word I say, feels like it could bring down fire and brimstone upon my head,
\nAnd I have to fight myself to say anything at all,
\nLet alone what I actually think.
\nSo when I start crying for no reason in the middle of a semi-serious conversation, or I stutter, or I need to scribble my words down before I say them, please understand that I’m not breaking down,
\nI just had to go back to the Brown House.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It’s not a children’s book title, even though that’s what it sounds like. But it was where I lived as a kid. At least, some of the time. When other people are asked about their childhood or family home, Most have story after story to…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1090,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-34462","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34462","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1090"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=34462"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34462\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":34630,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34462\/revisions\/34630"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=34462"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=34462"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=34462"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}