I feel arrested to the abuse, like the abuse is a giant boulder and i'm held to it by chains. I was born at the top of a hill, with bright lights and clear skies. But someone arrested me to this boulder, and pushed me down the hill. The last thing I remember when falling was a beautiful golden butterfly, fluttering at the top of the hill, bathing in the sun's light. I want back up the hill, I want to catch that butterfly and make it mine. but what is a boy to do? Sit against the boulder and try to make do. Look at the bottom of the hill and try to accept reality the way it is, trying to change what I can with what little resources exist here. It is a tough journey up the hill, and it seems the farther I get, the harder I roll back down. I beat myself up, hurt myself, scream at myself. Why can't I break free. I just want to be back at the top. I want to be one with the golden butterfly in the sun's light. Its been so long, I don't even remember what the sun's rays feel like. Even if I tried to be like the golden butterfly, I would be an imitation, a gilded copy of something so beautiful, so innocent. It is nice to dream, but practical to accept my reality. So as I lean against this boulder that has become the backdrop of my life, broken and bruised, I pull my knees up to my chest, rest my head, and feel the emotion burn its way through my eyes.