The door’s opened by Hitchcock.
A room of an infant’s memory :
Dolls, dust and instant delivery
Of some goosbumping horror-dolls.
They laugh while their head rolls,
Sitting hither-thither on the shelf,
Pressing shiver on my self.
Oh, that emberassing cymbals!
And what these, embracing symbols?!
I witness my old past on the wall :
I numbly follow the arc of a ball
From a dark dusty wardrobe lanced,
Arrived on mom’s garden’s land.
The scene of children holding ice cream,
Mine is splashed on earth.. why I scream.
The bullies of my old young ages
Made me write so many crying pages,
Made me a prisoner of this room,
Made me locked in it with my gloom.
I don’t even know how long ago
Has been waiting for me this lego
To face it as a challenge, as a fear.
I did it. I entered. Je suis fière.
I’m facing it only with acceptance;
This horror is a part of my stance.
J’ai changé mais la chambre bête reste.
I’m free. I’m wiser. Thanks that mess.