a childhood
ripped away so quickly
i felt it's whisk
like a smack to the face.
the grey lines
stopped appearing on the wall
after four foot one
and christmas presents piled up
in the untouched room
you once brought life to.
once upon a time,
we had just enough, perhaps a little less,
and now we have more,
always extras.
i can feel your warm hands
as they sit neatly in mine.
i can see your contagious laughter
and the lines you get on your forehead.
report cards stopped coming in,
as did paintings and mother's day cards.
toys stayed as dolls and crayons,
never did they graduate to more.
our house looks so innocent,
but the impurities speak otherwise.
your little boots still sit at the door,
red and shiny and untouched.
a baby coat hangs above them,
mud covering the bottom half in entirety.
and i will continue to sit on the rocking chair
in the corner of your bedroom,
cradling your blanket so ****** tightly
it's fibres embed themselves in me,
for all that started off as miracles
fade too soon.
