there is something special
about the poetry of children,
the art of little girls
half remembered stories
spilling over from a past life
soon to be forgotten
scrawled on lined paper
decorated with stickers
scraps of fabric
and fallen leaves
a grin missing teeth says
"how do you spell angel?"
all innocence, sugary innocence,
but there is none here
this one draws devils
dancing at night
where have you been?
what have they shown you?
why do you already know
a hundred ways to use the colour red,
smashing markers and crayons
until they bleed and scream?

I lay a girl to rest in the flowers.
She sleeps softly in her meadow bed.
I stand by, Woman, strong.
I love her with all my heart
But I am glad I am not her.
Not anymore.
A snake slithers through the grass
His name is Death
And I am, at last, afraid of him.
When he strikes at my heel,
I crush his head.
All my force aided by
The blankets of comfort I wear around my shoulders-
Collected from my Dear Ones
And from the One above.

Suicidality fades,
Suplexed by love.
I loved myself with all the violence of a wrestler.
I threw my self-hatred on the ground;
Crushed the head of my snake.

Now-
Back straight
Head high
Hair curling around a sun bonnet
Skirt rippling out
Boots splashing in puddles
Music in ear and heart

I graduated at last
From barely surviving
To fully living.

And I don’t,
quite understand.
Was it something,
I said?
Or maybe,
something,
I did?
Maybe,
you just,
signed out,
and decided,
to quit.
But you,
don’t read,
my messages,
anymore.
And that makes,
me sad,
not enough,
to cry,
but just enough,
for heartache,
to pry.
I wanted to,
let you know,
that I miss,
my player two.
Maybe you’ll,
decide to,
read this,
just remember,
to mark it,
unread,
I promise,
I’ll never,
notice.