I am the loving three year old,
holding mommy’s hand.
Sometimes I see her cry at night,
but I don’t understand.
I am the curious four year old,
and my mommy’s on the floor;
a bottle of clear liquid held in her hands,
it smells like just before.
I am the scared six year old,
and she says we have to hide;
Mommy sees things that aren’t really there,
So we have to sleep outside.
I am the naive eight year old;
and my mommy is getting better;
We dance to silly songs and play;
a chance for a better life together.
I am the hidden nine year old,
underneath brother’s bed;
Glasses are breaking, walls keep shaking;
Mommy and Daddy are shouting at each other;
again and again.
I am the shamed eleven year old,
with lice on her head.
Kids make fun when I am sent home.
The place I got the lice from;
the place where I feel alone.
I am the broken thirteen year old,
to God I will beg, plead and pray;
screaming in my brother’s arms,
as we watched our mother pass away.
I am the lost sixteen year old,
constantly searching for something.
Self-esteem highs go by so fast,
as if my life were nothing.
I am the proud eighteen year old,
who has been accepted into college
In my family, I am the first;
and for once in my life,
I realize my worth.
I am the happy twenty-two year old.
who believes in herself,
who made the climb.
I am the years before me and will be the ones after those,
I am the loving, the curious, the scared,
the naive, the hidden, the shamed, the broken,
the lost and the proud.
I am the happy.