#67 of 365 – “plundered”

“plundered”

 

I remember the fear that adulthood

would bring some horrible prognosis

I remember refusing to grow, so intensely,

that I became twisted with scoliosis

 

I didn’t know what terror would happen

or where exactly I would end up

and so I hid behind made-up faces

time would eventually abduct

 

I remember the mirror in my closet

I used to stare into and wonder

why my days would crack like lightning,

and my nights break like heavy thunder

 

something vaguely menacing and ominous

clawed at the peripherals of my mind

stalking me through my childhood

always just one step behind

 

until the years piled up on top of me

and I was betrayed and then outnumbered

in a fight that would leave my resistance to change

pillaged and finally plundered

 

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About Blackbird

Poet, sculptor, writer, spouse, parent, crazy person - not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in Change, Childhood, Growth, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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