ChildhoodTrauma

I stand before a mirror today, And their words stare back at me. A distorted reflection I can’t undo. Years have passed, yet their echoes

White walls, syringes, drips, Antiseptic, silent cries, My small frame trembles, like a wounded cub, As the white coat swishes back and forth before me.

An entwined road, Where love and hate meet, The bittersweet thought, Of that gentle hand that embraces , Yet strikes with sudden might.  A yearning

The world had judged it all already, By the time I took my first breath Soft and small. With a name, face with a deeper

I grew up, lost in a world that made no sense. Being a woman—an unspeakable curse. “No school for you,” they told me, And no

The long nights, the darkness deep, The life of a small child, Devoured by a sick beast, Who saw it right, To do all that

She had nothing to cling on, So she relented and watched , As the blade splintered her entire being. She beamed; Beamed because for her, 

These wounds will heal. These tears will dry. But the scars will tell; The story of your INHUMANITY. Of once dangling swings now stand still

My shoes were too torn to wear, I walked in them. So cold my feet felt, in the chilly air. Long nights full of hunger,

On this hill I stand, recalling my youth, My gaze sweeps over an image of virtue, An image of what once was—my village, my home.