I don't know that I want to immortalize
My family
My sickness
My pain
They say that poetry
Can heal all things.
So in an effort
Not to avoid it
The pain
The past
The sickness
I put pixel
To paper
And pain
To rhyme
Because my past
Haunts me
through the halls of time.
There are things in my past
That are buried,
Unhappy times
And memories,
That aren't purposely buried,
But the weight of life
Lived just covers it up
Like dirt on a grave,
After a while,
Things just grow over top of it until no one can tell the mounds in the forest aren't fairy mounds, but the decaying bodies of fallen dreams, like good soldiers, they laid down their lives for me, though they longed to live.
I'm too scared
Like the child
I once was,
to write out what actually occurred,
I'd rather write a metaphor…
They're safe
And make you
Feel good,
And you can relate to itq s poignancy
I'm still squirmin…
Go back
Go back
Early as early can be…
Before I was even three
Pain begins this story
Pain and bravery,
Before I was two,
I snuggled my teddy bear
Sandy brown
Black eyes
And snuggly too.
The world seemed stretched up and forever high
For I was so very low to the ground.
I was taken from my mother
The first time I can ever recall
I was taken from her
A place she couldn't go
(a ritual reserved for maidens not 2 year olds)
The room was painted a pale blue
And I was placed on the counter
And the floor was too
Far away to scramble down
And get away.
“These are like bees
who are going to sting you
but you get to hurt them back
and bite off their stingers.”
She put, one two inch needle
One at a time, in my little
Less than two year old body,
100 times that day…
So don't wonder why
I don't want to reminisce
About the past…
Let it stay buried,
I'd rather you look at me
And smile,
To see the new life
Overgrown,
Green,
Blooming,
With poetry
And prose
And sidewalk art
To make you think
About talent,
And love,
Not the death
Of the child below.
