little girl with the cherry in her mouth,
i feel sorry for you and your big brown eyes.

little girl with the brown sandals
and hair so messy
it could be a wasp's nest -
i swallow my regret because i know,
i know you are enough.

little girl,
you with the skip in your step,
and skinned knees
and ugly birthmark on the back of your leg
and big - fat - ugly - nose
and hairy eyebrows,
you are braver than i am.

your soul has a piece of the sunrise
that i witnessed this morning
and it has the same sound
as the wind i hear howling outside my window at night.

little girl, what you are on the inside
will never die -
cherish it well,
it has more meaning than you could believe.

i see her standing there -
and i'm wondering when she
will come inside.

it's below forty outside -
and the tears have frozen to her cheeks
and i can tell that she's becoming numb.

when will she come inside?
i wish she would -
so that i may wrap a blanket around her shoulders
and give her something hot to drink
and let the tears melt down her face.

i wish she would come inside.
but her and i both know better,
than to believe that we have any control -

over
this.
this.
this.
these feelings, i should say.

she'll come back inside -
when the feelings pass
when it's safe again
when i'm me again
when the world is righted on its axis.

i don't cry -
not in front of others
not at any time during the day.

but at night -
when everyone is dreaming
i can't sleep
because my own dreams are dead
and all that's left is my wet pillow.

i wish i could dream again.

make the pain go away -
by any means possible -
because my bed is forever indented with the shape of my hurting body -
and i don't remember the last time
i opened my curtains.

but i do remember
when you held me tight -
and crushed me to your chest.
or when you buried your face
in my neck
and left it stained with warm tears.

i want to remember how much
you really cared for me -
but it gets more difficult with every passing hour.

memories don't just dissolve into thin air -
i must unwrap the tendrils of fear that have made a home in my mind.
maybe i'm afraid of remembering -
because i know better than to believe -
that forgetting is possible.

i have a dream in the future -
of a sharp, obsidian blade
that makes a home for itself in the palm of my hand.
and when i swing the blade,
it connects with my father's neck -
and makes a swift entry and exit.

my father's head rolls on the floor -
and i watch in curiousity as old vines and blue tulips
sprout from his severed neck.

who knew that those things lived inside of him?
well, i guess i know now.

when i was a little girl,
i used to lay my head in my father's lap -
and his wrinkled, brown hand would hover above my face.
and i would close my eyes,
as his thick fingers traced themselves over the contours of my youthful skin.

it felt nice.
his fingers would sweep underneath my chin -
across my forehead -
but i loved it best when his touch made itself known,
with light fingertips fluttering over my closed eyelids.

he was the magician -
healing my eyesight of the world i'd seen -
the sights i'd witnessed -
he was making me feel pure again,
touching me into sleep,
making it known that i was safe.
that i am safe.

it's like when you have a terrible dream -
of a monster lurking in the shadows -
waiting, just waiting, for you to get close enough.

and you're scared -
and you know the monster is there -
and you know that there's no way out of this.

but then something happens -
there's a blood curdling scream -
and you understand that the monster has been defeated.

and you see the darkness being lifted away -
and your parents are there!
and you have never felt so overjoyed in your life, to see the two people you love most in the world standing there.

and they come to you, and they say -
"don't worry, the monster is gone. we got him."
and they hug you, wrapping you in warmth and love -
and the world is fine. everything is as it should be.

everything is as it should be.

the fact of the matter is -
the stars will continue to paint the sky every night even if you're gone -
the sun will continue to lick its flames upon the earth even when you become a part of the ground.

a bullet in your heart doesn't care -
rain falling from black clouds don't care -
the stray cat pays no mind as it passes your empty house.

is that a bad thing?

does the world have selfish intent,
by forgetting the harvest that it sows?
do i really mean nothing enough,
to be forgotten when i take my last breath?

i expected more of the world -
i expected more of this life -
i expected more of what love i had left.

sadness is not a strong enough word to describe how i feel -
when i think of the sun continuing to rise and the moon keeping its shine -
even if i am not around to see it.