There's something missing. It's how I feel.
It feels so wrong. It's very real.
The pain is real. I've hurt so long.
I don't belong. It's how I feel.
A beautiful baby, a pretty pink dress.
Hid all the ugly. Who would've guessed?
The dress is gone. Pretty was ugly all along.
The pain is real. I've hurt so long.
I don't belong. It's how I feel.
Soon, it's Mother's Day.
And Mom, I don't know what to say.
We need to talk, and listen, some day.
Questions to ask, answers to say.
I don't belong. It's how I feel.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a rhyming poem about your childhood. It can be good or bad, happy or sad. |
Author Notes
As an only child, I grew up being severely abused by the man I called, "Daddy". An ongoing trauma since my memories at three years old. My mom was always there, but hidden. Perhaps in her own trauma? At sixteen, I escaped. Alone, I fled for six months. Once in contact with my mom, and spilled the hurt, the battle to talk with her about my childhood was impossible. The pain was so real. I hurt for so long. Parents, please don't ever stop to take even one minute to listen to your child. It could mean the whole difference to their life.
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