Who will cry for my

Sun, 01/07/2018 - 23:58 -- poet22d

Who will cry for my little girl? the little girl inside of me... I guess, I forgot to consider her feelings.  I forgot to ask her if she is okay if I batter myself…I forgot to think about how saying hurtful things to myself,  I hate you. I am nothing, but worthless.I am unlovable. I am undeserving of happiness. As she received it- You are worthless. A stinging slap to her rosy cheeks. You are unlovable. Her heart.. splintered. You are undeserving of any happiness.The light from her eyes, her eyes glinting with hope, has fled. And the last searing truth, “I hate you.” She might as well be dead.  What did I do to her…? And now, I know, I’ve seen the sorrowful, heavy truth. I have neglected her, I have abused the little girl inside of me. If I ruminate… think about her as a child in the physical world.. the real world,instead of locked, contained to the boundaries of my subconscious, and tethered to the depths of my soul..Then I can see, I can center myself just enough to catch a glimpse of this sweet, beautiful girl.   A little girl who makes peanut butter blossoms for Santa, always being so enthusiastic, so bright and full of bubbles, of light and golden sunshine.. a magnetic personality bursting at the seams with charisma, just as she would smile, or simply wave at a stranger in the grocery store..exchanging tokens of positivity to people who happened to saunter by.  A little girl, who dances around in pink ballet flats until the world spins, and spins, gaining momentum as she whisks her troubles away, step by step.      A child whose heart was, is, and will be forevermore glowing with serenity, a heart that strums the chords of peace,     whether it be echoed, resounded from the soulful harp embedded in her voice,or the mastery in fingertips tickling, wandering over polished black, and white piano keys, or the gilded-golden strings of a guitar.      A baby born with eyes agape with blue, Eyes: holding the longing streams of peace, emanating the aura of the quaint, humble forest- trees slipping into the veils of sky blue.. and the fields nodding to the bending, tranquil river.  This little girl is real, real in the bouncing of her sandy blonde curls,real in the way she reads aloud to her stuffed bears, puppies and kittens..     and in every few moments gesturing to her ceramic tea set, asking Mr. Bear, or Lily the tabby kitten, if either of them would like another plastic chocolate chip cookie, or mini ring ding she baked in her toy kitchens oven,     Imagining that when Mr. Bear bites into his cookie, that the chocolate chips are indeed melting, evanescing, with warm luscious.. sweetness. She is as real, as real can be,occupying the sanctuary of my fictitious imagination.  In this little window of clarity I open, she is drawing me a picture,a picture of her emotions.. a sad face.. Even though it is an oval traced in charcoal black crayon, with two dots for eyes, and upside down curve of the mouth.. with intricate cornflower blue teardrops,  I can’t help but be critical of her drawing, I mean it’s cute.. but it’s not of skill..she hears my critique, and buries her head in her knees..this little girl is crying now, crying.. full tears.. dripping down her cheeks..falling down the slope of her nose..Sobs escaping.  I.. I’m sorry little girl, I’m sorry.. but my apology holds no movement, no meaning.. for it does not pick her head up, or stop the tears erupting from her eyes. And then, I notice, I notice her sleeves.. her arms trailing with bruisesthe healed bruises I had on my own arms, I notice her posture, carrying herself with shoulders droopy, like wilting rose petals.. threatening to fall.  You.. you are.. me. Me? You are me, but younger.. brighter. Like a… star.“My star girl…” I fall to my knees, and surrender my ego.. my ego, my judgments and walk over to her..I rub her back, I kiss her head.. engulfing her in my wholesome, loving- accepting arms..  “I love you, Madison.” “I love you little girl.”  My baby, the baby inside of me. You have suffered far more than me, your bruises have not healed..you are black and blue, red in the face.. heart broken in two halves. My abuse, the abuse of my childhood.. you were there,we were there holding each other’s hands.. but.. I should have been strong for you, I should have been holding you in my lap.. wiping your tears away as someone hurt us, ripped our innocence away..I should’ve protected you, I should have loved you.. I shouldn’t have shamed you, I shouldn’t have exiled you into darkness where all the nightmares and scaries live, and thrive.. It’s time I start loving you, wholly and completely Madison,You know people call us amazing, and fantastic, Other people love us, for everything we are..  She lifts her head, and looks at me.. gazes into my eyes, into “our,” eyesand then, I see, I see- my reflection, me with that little girl reflected back in my own eyes, and her forever spirit smoldering in my heart.         

This poem is about: 
Me

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