A poetic journey through my mind

Posts tagged “children

In The House of My Enemy (trigger warning, child abuse)

 

In a basement, in a closet, in the corner of my mind,
I am hiding, I am running,  I am being hard to find.
Hide me darkness, hide me silence,  hide me safe from any sight,
keep me hidden, safe and quiet,  far from pain or rage or fright.
Search is coming, pain and anger, fear is icicles inside,
eyes are staring, heart is beating, breath is curling up to hide.
Footsteps nearing, rage is searing, in threat and anger raving,
darkness broken, hard words spoken, fear and pain past saving.
Hands are groping, no more hoping, plleas and promises ignored,
pain and screaming, fade to dreaming, till the darkness falls once more.


Childling moon

whisper, giggle, prank and play,
the changelings now will have their day,
beware the mortal taken in
by childish laugh and friendly grin,
they’ll whirl him through enchanted night,
and leave him lost in mornings light,
baffled, flustered and confused,
exhausted, hungry and bemused,
but somehow lonely for the sound
of little footsteps on the ground,
and childish voices raised in glee,
footloose, all, and fancy free.


Imagination

where does it go when it flies far away,
where has it gone off to scamper and play,
when it starts to get dark, at the end of the day,
how can you call it back home?

where does it go, down a glass mountain stream,
or under the mountain, where the dragons breathe steam,
or somewhere even further, with the Being of Seem,
even though it’s time to come home?

or maybe up high where the thin branches sway,
or up in a nest, with the eaglets, to play,
or playing come-chase-me with the last flitting ray,
stretching out for that last bit of roam…

But the branches slow down, soft and softer they sway,
And the eaglets curl up, in their warm nest of hay,
And the sunbeams rest softly for the coming new day,
And they whisper “It’s time to go home!”

And the stream’s singing softly, a soft lullaby,
and the dragons snore sweetly in the caves as they lie,
and the Being stands tall, to turn off the sky,
For he knows that it’s time to come home.

So homeward it races, when it hears what is said,
and slips through the window to its own little head,
to lay it down soft on its own little bed,
and I smile, and I welcome it home.


I promise

what did i do, what did i say,
what can i fix to make it ok?
i want to do better, i swear that i’ll try,
i won’t act too crazy, i won’t tell a lie,
i’ll do all my homework, every last bit,
so there’s no need to yell, and no need to hit,
i’m sorry i’m clumsy and lazy and loud,
i’m sorry i’m naughty and evil and proud,
i won’t think i’m smart, and i won’t act too dumb,
whenever you call me I’ll be sure to come,
i won’t get too dirty, i’ll wash my own clothes,
i’ll take my own bath and wipe my own nose,
i’ll wash all the dishes, and make you some tea,
i promise i love you…please, mommy, love me!


My Alice

Frantic and flailing, panicked and pained,
she moves through her day like a whirlwind in chains,
Her body is fragile, and so is her heart,
her eyes burn in her face as they scamper and dart,
Her mind searches, desperate, for something she’s lost,
letting the ones she has left pay the cost.
Constant apologies fall from her lips,
as she races, and runs, and falters and trips,
One day she’ll fall where there’s nowhere to land,
and I’ll lose yet another, a thought I can’t stand,
But for now I’ll stay constant, and help where I must,
and try not to watch as she crumbles to dust.


Childlike, not Childish

It’s a long slow leap from child to man,
but most of us it seems we ran,
straight through the joys of childhood days,
into the pain of adult ways.

Far better to have stopped and stayed,
than never to have loved and played,
all on the shore of childhoods sea,
at least that’s how it seems to me.


Void if Broken (TW: abuse)

Where are the words to reveal what I hold,
the stone that sits on my heart?
No, not on my heart, but on my entire…soul?
On my mind, on my every last part.
There are no words to scrape off the web,
the cocoon built so strong long ago,
to show you the shame, to open the box,
to think that another should know.
I cannot think past the weight of the stone,
I fight and I bite and I hate,
but all that there is is the pain and the rage,
and help is too little, too late.
Too late for the one, who so long ago,
was caught in anothers sick game,
buried beneath the muck and the grime,
till no one remembers her name.
Too many new names have hidden her now,
created from hate and despair,
facets of what was a shining bright jewel,
now fractured beyond all repair.
Squabbling all in the depths of the mind,
spiraling out from the stone,
protecting and hurting and living and dying,
ensuring we’re never alone.
Talking around it can only disclose
that a void in the middle remains,
but for all that it’s worth, I give you this sight,
though it’s tattered and covered with stains.


Little Flowers (trigger warning: abuse, children)

curly heads and shining faces
frightened eyes behind the walls
little targets, little weapons,
back and forth like ping-pong balls
angry voices, violent actions
little faces blind with pain
staring out of curtained windows
flowers turning toward the rain


Aside

Faerie Hill

underneath the faerie hill,
lovely fairies, dancing still,
can you see them where they hide?
do you dare to look inside?
careful all who wander near,
man of means or children dear,
for you may just disappear,
and with the fae folk ride!