Little girl, who knows how old,
Strapped in a seat by cheap fabric and plastic.
Mother Dearest is flying, slowly crashing to the ground
But still she pushes Little Girl further along.
Mother Dearest needs to go back up,
Needs to be up high with the birds of the sky.
She needs to visit her special friends
Who will help her soar back up to them.
Mother Dearest knows where they are,
All living together in a special place.
A place hidden from most.
Little Girl and Mother Dearest are alone,
Walking the streets to the special place.
Little Girl is scared and cold but acts as if she was okay.
There it is, Mother Dearest’s special place.
Door opens and shuts quickly, quietly.
Still trapped by the fabric and plastic,
Little Girl tries to see through the smoke filled air,
Tries to find Mother Dearest with eyes no longer innocent
But Mother Dearest is already lost in the crowd, hidden by smoke.
The special friends smell like Mother Dearest
Before she changes her clothes for her family.
Little Girl sees Man, seems nice to her
As he un-traps her from the fabric and plastic.
He smells like Mother Dearest too.
Man isn’t nice though.
Man hurts Little Girl and doesn’t care.
Man does things he shouldn’t to Little Girl
But no one sees.
They are all up high with the birds of the sky.
They can’t see down where she is.
Little Girl quickly learns
No one is nice when up high with the birds,
Not Man, not Mother Dearest, no one.
Man puts Little Girl back in the fabric and plastic,
Acts as if nothing happened.
Man leaves to soar with more birds.
Mother Dearest is back again
But now her eyes are red as if
Lemon juiced was squeezed into them.
Her arms just as red
With scrapes, burns, mysterious marks.
Mother Dearest smiles at Little Girl,
Tells her its time to go back home.
Again they walk alone on the streets.
No one will know what happened to Little Girl that day.
No one will know what Man and Mother Dearest did to her.
But.
Someday, someday Little Girl will be older, a teenager.
Little Girl will remember the pain they caused her.
She will realize the reason for her late night tears,
Understand her uncontrollable fears.
Now what is the purpose of all these words
I’ve thrown at you?
To make you see no matter the age,
Little girls and boys will remember pain from their past.
For I know this as a fact.
Little Girl is not a fake, not fictional like
Alice or Ophelia or even simply Cinderella.
I know Little Girl, I know she remembers.
How do I know?
I am her.
I am Little Girl.