Introspection
Writing it outShouting it out
loud!
Whispering secrets
hidden
under the bed
What's that he said?
Way back before
She was dead
Before time changed
Before the sky fell
And knocked her head
Off kilter.
Her innocence was pilfered
Leaving a hobbled odd sort of girl
Although it was noticed just in an
Alice In Wonderland world.
Falling down that rabbit hole
Swallowing fears, choking back tears
Down, swirling down, drowning
She goes.
Accepting, changing, rearranging
Silently, always pushing away
Reality, the memory, to a place
Where children put the boogiman
And things that come out in the dark
Who play bad things with little ones
In the park when no one is watching.
Oh, those places are full of bellyaches
And nightmares, and wetness in the morning.
Poor babies looking in mirrors and seeing reminders
Fingers of touches of smells and yells and
Such things, as much things, as these.
Then there's nothing left but a child uneasy inside
Beside, outside, all around she acts the clown
Carefree.
Put on that face to erase all pictures drawn by another
On that slate that belong to me.
How could it be, that child was me? But she is. I found her.
When digging up bones.
Those Baby Doll Bones I wrote about,
That I journaled about,
That I thought about,
Which I wrought my world about
When I finally spoke about it, to myself.
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
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Written on 2016-04-25 at 02:06
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