I sit and stare out the window
watching the wind as it catches the swing and makes it move
as if I am on it
Maybe the ghost of my childhood is
I look like I’m playing dress-up
wearing my mother dress
only for some reason it fits
it’s even constraining not leaving me the air to Cry
I wanted to go to school
Instead I’ll lay in his bed
There the only things I’ll learn my tiny body will dread
I’ll cry for my mother while he tries to make me one
I won’t ask for my father
Because to me they look the same
If marriage means it’s not forced why does the force of his body nearly break mine
The only things he’ll teach me are his grunts while I cry
I still play with baby dolls while my body grows round
I’ll be confused why until I hear her first cry
She looked like my baby dolls,
But demanded so much more
I’m scared and tired
I don’t know what to do
I made a bed of leaves, placed them up high.
Surrounded by so much ugly I knew her beauty would shine.
In fear and confusion I ran away
Confident someone would hear her cries
But knowing if they didn’t
Death is Gentle compared to life
I am a 44-year mom of three and a Nana to two.
I love to write, take pictures and dream.
I blog at Twistdbutterfly