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Oh, little girl, wipe your tears!
The war has been over more than a decade ago. Is the wound still as hurt as the first time you got it? Is it not healed yet?
Wipe your tears, and keep walking!
Running if must so.
This is a never-ending tunnel, but the lights are breaking through those thick walls.
Little girl, your heart is safe with me that I will harm you no more, l
I know that you’ve been in the dark too long, that you think you’re forever doomed.

Hush those little lies, little girl... put them to sleep.

I will take care of the wounded heart of yours,
Do you remember that we used to pick the wildflowers? We would ride our bike, set a new adventure each day, stopped in the last spot to have a little picnic. We don’t have to forget; we can frame those memories in our new home. Let the wildflowers grow.

You are safe, this little world is ours.
All your life you’ve been the beggar of the love you were supposed to have, but it’s always been there, we just have to walk a little further.
I will hold your hand if the worries come, loneliness will definitely company us, but I promise this one is different.
I know you’d rather relive all the storms that stranded you than go being someone you’ve never met,
but little girl,
she has always been you, and you have always been me.
So, let’s try once again?
Kellin 5d
I'm not a whole person
I don't think I ever will be
Part of me died in the house I grew up in

I visit them in my dreams
General time
To live the life, electric
In a count of fames, a name of trying
That will begin the heed, of reach, exact

Secrets, only a demon could see...
The tooth and the envoy of truth
That collected a shrewdness, in all anarchy?
The scope we adjust to a new light we Rueth

Spare demonstration, for decency to quiet
And hold for a sulking hour, houses of repute
Come to the fashion of seasons before twilight
Time is am's honored party, sat to describe its sordid worth?

But hate is such, a future foolhardiness...?
When we are, the culture of simplicity...
In the name of conscience lead, to a very different guest
My name is whole and clear, of what a soul was, intimacy

Clamor of a self-sufficient eye
Many more than out, to seek the world of else
Wealth in the spy of virtue, that can suspect a total, for a lie
That we have come to know, like the basis of what seems to be, hell's...

Night comes for a tired eye to complain:
Here in saving hindsight, I have learned with the coping hours of others
And their burden, sense set before me, in sate or plane
The voice of love, with eyes to follow and hide, ruin from the peace savored, together?
For people that notice a brand-new day; rude and crude to done, is no future...
Your childhood is a gift.
It's something that is given to you,
and it is something you have to unwrap.
Sometimes the gift just keeps on giving.
It's within the wrapping paper and bows and cards and boxes.
It is up to you,
if it's a good gift or a bad gift.
You have to deal with it;
Do you want to keep it with you?
Or do you want to give it away?
Either way, you will always remember
who gave you that gift.

-m.b
I once read that life is just about having a childhood and you spend the rest of your years unpacking it
Steve Page Jun 19
Don’t tell our parents, but I think I’m ready
for the next step, I want to hold your hand
and perhaps walk the longer way home.
I’ll shorten my stride and keep in time with us
because it all slows down when you’re talking
when you lick your lips to keep them moist
and they manage to reflect the dipping sun.

I’d like to sit face to face with your face
while you talk about the sky and the stars
about the horizon and what lies beyond
the slow canal and the horse that’s pegged there.

But let’s not tell our parents yet,
I’d like to find out what this is like
before they talk and spoil it for us.
Arvon retreat writing exercise - intimacy
Steve Page Jun 19
She chose me from among the younger boys to cross the long floor
and on the far side, in the half-curtained sunlight
she took hold of me and my innocent limbs
- helping me reach up her long back, guiding my trembling hands -
and then she enveloped me, joining her body to mine.

I could feel the damp of her warmth,
our bodies rolling together while her music set the pace
which I struggled to maintain, but somehow I kept in step
with her rise and fall, with her supple flow, navigating this complex dance,
deep in this safe space in the circle of her practiced arms.

The pre-pubescent boys looked on
and the teacher's graceful Foxtrot took me the full length of the room
from boyhood to something new.
Arvon retreat June 2022 - writing about intimacy
When I was a little girl my favourite film was Peter Pan.
I so desperately wanted to go to Neverland.
So much so that I often thought about becoming lost.
Just run out of my home one night and never look back. Peter would find me and fly me away to Never Neverland, where all the lost boys and lost girls were.

What if I did run away?
What if I'm still lost?
What if my body is still here but my soul, my being is gone?
Never to find its way back.
What if I found Neverland.
Only somewhere in the depths of my mind never to return.

Only my shadow remains.

Forever a Shadow.
Allesha Eman Jun 4
I massage the black seed oil into my hair
love the way it reminds me of my mother's fragrant laugh
And the way her soft hands stretch the dough
And she sprinkles kalonji onto it where the melting butter
welcomes the seeds with open arms

I braid this ocean breeze into my itching scalp
Thinking of how she would sit me down
And run her fingers through my knotted hair
After I played outside without a care
And I would shriek in pain with every pull,
desperate to leave her grasp
But she would pour the mustard seed oil onto her palms
And I would be transported into her tough love

Now I think about those moments,
And the pain feels like distant menthol induced haziness
Instead, all I feel is my back against her warmth

—————————————————————
Kalonji - Black Seed/Onion Seed
spacewtchhh May 28
Im sorry little one.

You are not as golden as you think you were.
You will be colored gloom and gray,
and everything will be a blur.

You cry an awful lot,
all you need is an embrace
But then you will learn to conceal it with a straight face

You will suffer with fear, grief and rage,
Your solitary will be a tragedy in a small stage.

Im sorry little one, you are only a child.
Still, this is the recollection of your youth all filed.

Eventually, though...
You will grow..
Into me.

Collectively, we will flourish on healing.
Got a lot of ideas coming in lately, i guess this will be a start of something, as i carry on with my healing
Roland May 28
I saw her today for the first time in months, skinny like a recent divorcee, collarbones not quite showing, but progress made. Biting guiltily at a pizza slice, praying it wouldn’t go to her legs. She’s special like that.

We shared the bed in what can only be described as hospice for the depressed. Reminded me of a time when we were only poor, not quite destitute, when we would share the room out of love and need, not out of shame and spite.

So, I spent the night in her little room, that prison-palace she lives in, as the heat and noise seeped through my restless dreams. I opened my eyes while the stars still shone, and I caught a glimpse of her moonlit form, I saw her not as she was right there, but as she used to be, so full of joy and love.

A deep sadness took me as the sleep swept in. And I thought of us and them, of that yellow house surrounded by trees, of how I called her “mommy” for all the good it did. Of how they set off the flame that brought Eden to its knees.

I still call her mom for all the good it does, and I still think of them and what could’ve been us. I still picture the boy sitting on her lap within that yellow house and all the trees around.

I can only hope she still has it in her to fight, and dream, and live and laugh. God knows we both have to.
I wrote this after visiting my mom during the pandemic, she was living in a single room apartment and we had to share a bed. Reminded me of a time when we needed to sleep in the same bed while I as a kid and we had fell on hard times.
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