(art is mine )
four .
four years old , still a baby in the eyes of the world
doe eyed, quiver of the lip and chubby fingers.
clinging to a pink crayon, struggling to draw the perfect heart.
bin full of crumpled papers, nothing is right.
bedtime, still frustrated.
still clinging to the pink crayon.
tomorrow will be better.
six and a half
small chest, but a heart so big that it shakes the room she enters.
befriends everyone, complains little.
she cries while reading about lost children
cries even more while watching the news
'is the world that bad?'
she asks her father.
mother strokes her hair
'tomorrow will be better'
just turned eight.
books overflow,
spilling out of the bookshelf that her dad crafted, ever so carefully
clinging to her mother's side, barely aware of the possibilities
if she lets go.
the TV screen flashes angry words
'daddy? whats an amber alert?'
she wished that she had never asked.
at night she prays for an hour, praying that no one she knows
will ever have to endure the hardships that she has only heard of.
a tear sleeps on the pillow with her
'tomorrow will be better'
eleven
she is convinced that she understands everything
she still prays
she still heeds her parents warnings
to her, everything is a story and nothing is real.
block it out
block it out.
but something still tugs at her every time
she hears the words 'rest in peace'
tomorrow will be better.
freshly fifteen.
the roadblock she made for her mind, years ago, is gone.
she writes too much
and understands just as much
her heart aches, in a way it never has before.
for the world.
she wishes that she wouldn't understand
but she knows, the ache will still remain.
and although she faces small hardships, she knows that
tomorrow might be better
in her small part of the world
but by the time the next day is over, she has seen the news.
read the articles
and her heart aches some more.
some people, won't even wake up
to see, if tomorrow will be better.
