One Minute Old. Poem by Phoenix Feniks

I am 12,
my window is wide open
as i inhale the soft summer's breeze.
Nothing bad has happened to me yet-
…no.
That's wrong.
I am 3 years old,
i watch as my parents scream at each other
and i listen closely
to the approaching sirens of police cars.
My dad is taken away,
tears rolling down his cheeks
that mirror my own salty streams.
Nothing bad has happened to me yet-
…no.
That's wrong.
I am barely a minute old.
I open my eyes gently,
the soft summer sun blinding me
as i am held in my mothers arms.
I don't know who she is yet,
and i don't know who the man next to me is yet either.
I unknowingly breathe in the smell of peace,
the last breath of peace i will ever take.
I don't know that after that moment,
every laboured breath i take
will not be so peaceful.
But that's okay,
I suppose.
I can live with one particle of peace
in my rotting body.
I am merely a minute old,
I open my eyes gently
as the soft summer sun blinds me.
Nothing bad has happened to me yet.
Yes,
that's right.