​inside, i’m a child, but not childish;

 naivety, in the form of trust

greed, in a search to be loved

– in addition to, i have a fear of thunder storms –

in the middle of the night i wake, gasping for breath from hearing, the reverberating howl of monsters

and if i stare at the ceiling for too long in the dark,
i fall asleep under the covers to hide from the faces

i still see my crying face, the night my childlike naivety shattered, once again, like the glass that was thrown against the wall,
the welling tears, like the shards of glass and blood that split and slid down my skin,

the girl full of hope and love, which she abandoned, once again, once again
maturing over night into a woman, broken, 13, then 30, not by wish,
with nothing, but memories of what she abandoned, what she lost

the reflection i’m met with in any mirror, is always one of loss…


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