Alone she sits, her back curved into a hook.
Her lips parted, a breathless whisper intermingling with salt.
Her heart is empty.
Where once she felt the an echoing beat
She feels pain
The words repeat themselves over again
It is a JOURNEY to re-write my old poems. This one, like more that you will read later, was written back in 2005. So much has happened since then. Puberty has ended (I think). Hormones are supposedly more stable. But I can still feel that pain in my chest. Squeezing at my lungs.
I’m married now. I’m a mother now. I feel more complete than I ever have.
I still hear that voice, though.
It tells me I’m not wanted. Not needed.
It’s better now. The voice is more a whisper, than the overwhelming taunt it once was.
There are coping mechanisms in place. Little things I do to remind myself that I matter. That it is okay for me to matter – if that makes any sense.
Stay bright kids. Don’t dim your own light. If you need an ear to listen know that there is always someone to hear you. You are not alone.