the words I kept

𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆

A certain little girl I saw when I was travelling on the road—
that diverged before me.
Her heart was completely naked with bruised ink, and she smelled of smoked tangerines.
I asked her, "Where are you going, and why are you here?"
She looked at me with eyes,
frozen in time,
and explained herself, "I am seeking a home I can call of my own, for I am all alone."

A drop of rain dripping from the clouds felt lost when it saw only her and me drenched in the misery sea of stone.

And when seen in a mist so fragile like fragments of ceramic and honey tea—
She asked out loud: "Do you know the way to Neverland?"

I wondered what the reason
What could it have been;
why she wanted to leap into the world where Peter Pan dreams and is seen,
and where the lost boys roam.
Yet the roaring storms in her eyes told me she had nowhere to go and no place to call home.

And here she was, a caged bird with clipped wings, in the shadow of plight, awakening my Ghost of Christmas
Past—
towards the striking hour of midnight.

The tavern of memories, some stale and bale, and others: quite not so frail, of lonesome tremblings and sitting inside bathroom stalls after being picked on and called names that still sometimes make me feel small.

And oh! How they would laugh and exclude me from their games
making me feel lame,
and questioning myself if I'm sane,
and am I enough to remain?
Is my existence such a shame?

And that mirror of madness, sadness, and dust of tears cloaks my secret garden that blooms and grieves.
Inside of me, roses, daffodils, and orchids grow and wilt in the winter and spring glow.

But the little girl was fire and hurricane.
And I was the rough clay of ash and the soil thirsting for rain;
On a pilgrimage to find the golden treasure—
of what it was, I didn't know,
only it was within the soul.

I said to her,
"Your home is where your heart belongs, and where your heart belongs, someday you will find."

Then the little girl and I continued on the road less travelled by—
And in the distance, melted into one
as tinges of light began to gleam from behind the clouds by the July sun.

- A Certain Little Girl, part 1
______________________________________

𖤓