I wonder what younger me would think now,
looking at my face.
Would she still think I was pretty?
Would she still think I was nice?
Would she still think I was smart.
Would she still see herself in me?

Would she still see
the girl who hid under the kitchen sink,
and danced in the rain,
and sang until she was put to bed?
Would she still see something worth saving?
Some piece of me that was heaven-bound?

I still feel like her.
I feel like I'm still that small,
like I'm weaving between the legs of people in the crowd,
looking for my mother,
looking for someone to guide me,
but finding only stranger's hole-ridden jeans.
lost.
a lost little girl.

a lost little girl,
fading in and out of existence.

a lost little girl wearing
a polka-dot dress.

a lost little girl
looking for home.