A Childhood Recounted

I'll try not to be melodramatic, but I'm a bit bitter.

Curled in the back seat
crunched against the wall and
wedged between fabric.
Whisper in the bathroom stall.
Quiet in the walk-in closet.
I remember so many days spent,
reddened eyes but head held high.
Turned in shoulders, crushed in place by
the over and overs and the overs.
Why waste the heart?
In peacetimes, built my world.
The sand washed it away when
He spoke, and here I was,
once again, backed against a wall.
Forced into a cycle: things will never change.
Mutter the words over, over;
Form a strange new mantra.
People never change. People never change.