When I was a child
I was not above violence
And cruelty was a virtue
Yet despite violence done to you
You swaddled life with a maternal motherliness
When no mother laid willing to keep you warm
You carried me even when you were not carried
Though you were only a child
There were times I would look at you, puzzled
With your cheeks stained in tears
Mouth agape as you wail relentlessly
Now I seem to be at an age where
I want to paint that same display
But the brush never seems to reach my face
On nights I am given a reprieve
You still carry me to bed under the blanketed stars of night
As I try to figure out a way out of here
Like you did
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Among Friends Like These...
PoetryMy poetry collection of my personal works centering around developmental relationships that change your very person-- be it good or bad, or a bit of both. This collection also involves themes of trauma such as loss, neglect and abuse.
