“This is wrong”
I thought I got rid of my mother voice from my head, but yet it was still echoing through my brain. It was muffled, but it was not silenced. At 14 years old I felt like my mind had been ignited. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to try everything.
Brush your teeth, clean your room, do your homework, clean the dishes, and other orders ingrained in me from childhood had finally stopped running through my skull. But one phrase had stuck: “This is wrong.”
Wrong means bad! Wrong means a BUNCH of red x’s scattered across a test like confetti. Wrong means your sinning and going to hell (But I stopped believing in that stuff). But, it still scared me like hell.
“This is wrong!”
Wrong is the look of confusion and pain in the eyes of the boy who slipped a note through my window at five in the morning because he wanted to know if I was thinking of him. And that he was thinking of me. Hes the boy who sat through ten showings of harry potter the day after my grandmother died. Even though neither one of us was really enjoying the movie. But there was a part in the movie where Maggie Smith’s mouth tips up to one side, just like grandmas did. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop grieving until I could watch that part with a smile, and not a sob.
Pain and confusion is covering his face. The pain of facing rejection, confusion and he can feel my body tense, his hands are shifting restlessly, everything is moving with a want. How is it possible that a mere whisper is holding me back? He some how yanks me back into reality with no blinders to hide the darkness clouding his face.
This is wrong“
A gradual change is happening.
A bound body is wrong, not the movements it might make is unshackled.
A silenced tongue is wrong, not the feelings it wants to express.
Hurting someone who loves you is wrong.
The words have not changed. But my consciousness is preserved, the influence destroyed.
“This is right!”