Childhood Confessions – A Memoir
SAMARA JENNINGS
RELEASE
I clenched my fragile hands within the flood
heart synced to the rhythm
of a mechanical beast calling
outside my room.
heave, heave
the walls of my bedroom compresses
then breaths
I am not ready.
but right now,
I am the colour of the sunset on any given night,
a long-awaited flower;
blooms once in a blue moon.
I am a perfectly crafted key
turning in the lock of this body.
feel her hands melt
like a warm blanket over soft skin,
my toes poking an impression on her.
mother,
I have no pressures
deadlines
reputations.
I am not ready
to release.
INNOCENCE
ice cream
dripping down
my wrists
belly bulging
out of my dotted cozzie
rainbow sprinkles and crumbs of wafer
cover like patchwork,
sticky and shameless.
back when it never occurred to me
to hide this rumbling cave,
shrink down and fit flat against bones.
I miss when
indulgence
didn’t feel like a sin.
THE GLASS CHILD
the youngest of six
the sibling of someone with multiple disabilities
another with addiction.
my glass house was built young.
enforced diamond prism,
perfect design; difficult to shatter.
my first memory occurs in a waiting room
filled with children perched on parents laps.
their tender hands leading
racing around bead mazes,
books made into dreams
from just cloudy whispers.
limbs sprawled in my glass cage,
parents and sister behind a distant reality
a flood of bitterness plugged my throat
‘gulp down, sweet patient child’
I hold the weight of a balanced home on my glass frame,
hold the smoke not inhaled,
hold feelings not felt,
following all rules without fail.
It doesn’t change the fact that my mother has a great eye
and I just wished that one time
she would use it to look at my glass house.
THE BEAST BEHIND THE SCREEN
To S.A
the day before I turned thirteen
a man came into my life
wrapped me up with pretty words,
fed my starved body with affection.
despite us living in different countries
the man behind the screen was in love with me.
on my fourteenth birthday
you sent lingerie in size extra small
and you excavated the foundation of my adolescent body
ripped out the roots and stems of my identity
replanted seeds of poison ivy
that I could never scrub off.
my puppy love
was an illusion I thought was my fault.
but beasts like you can smell invisible girls.
yet my inner child is still afraid
of spitting your crawling secrets.
never again will I go in public
without fearing seeing you
as you once promised you would see me.
Samara Jennings
is an Australian that lives on unceded Garigal Aboriginal land. She writes deeply personal yet mysteriously ambiguous poems, intended to be as her thoughts spoken aloud. She is a teacher, powerlifter, dancer and artist – always exploring hobbies to enrich her under-stimulated mind.
