She smiles to hide what’s behind it
Semi-genuine but you’d never know it
Shut down so much she over reaches
Laughter lets her float above the trenches
Besides it distracts others
Makes them think her life’s like theirs
Nice and easy - no need to go deep
Open up - explain why she checks on everyone as they sleep
It’s an easier sell
Safer to keep them away from her personal hell
All the while desperate not to be alone
….The girl from the broken home
She tries to drink
Hates the way it tastes
But loves the way she doesn’t have to think
Helps her fit in - what she’s always wanted
While everything else remains stunted
Dating felt more like a game
Played to pass the time away
No one could actually reach her heart
It was shattered before the start
She learned early on marriage is flawed
The fairytale is just a facade
So she pretends that she’s not made of stone
….The girl from the broken home
Like they do...
Years come and years go
Each one adding more to her load
Until the day she reaches a cross road
Instead of sinking under the weight
Inside her struggle had become her strength
For the first time she looked in the mirror
Recognizing a desire to heal
And she ran no more
And she knocked on the door
That belonged to
….The girl from the broken home
About the Creator
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Yes, the first step to healing is to recognition and acceptance. Loved your poem!
A very beautiful poem.
A very well done entry.