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A Story Crying to be Told Part 1

A newborn babe given to the ones who saved her from the fate of poverty and misery.

To portray the loving family of white middle class or at least the struggling to be that.

A girl of light and newness with almond eyes and darkened locks with fragile skin.

A kin to Italian plite

A kin to Irish blood

None of that to bathe in just a different type to be cast in

********** was among the living creed this family held fast the dying deed of :

no talking, no whisper, no whimper or scream.

Be quiet little one....be inside the room of your friendly playthings and create the fantasies you will keep faith in.

Fantasies are nimble and sweet for a delicate mind to entertain inside

Door closed

Fights outside it...loud and booming!!

Mother and Father no longer a family

Plates are thrown and different things left strewn about.

Her shouts sure drown the frightened whispers

The lil girl told her playthings in the room fanciful with butterfly walls and trellises that lined the closet walls

It will all be over soon

Mother will succumb to her way of being numb

She will be nice again

The lil girl can come out and try to play with her brothers of 1/2 kin

They call her brat

The mother calls her muffin or muffet

The father calls her squirt

The land of fantasies run deep in this family

Pretending is a way of life

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Written by
fly-on-my-wall-aka-lisa
Welsh
Published
Apr 22, 2012
Lines·Words
25·245
Permission

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