The Plight of a Haunted Child

I walk around trying to make
            Sense of a world that makes none,

Scarred by memories of watching
My mother – who, when she felt
Unwanted, would ride the horse she swore
Had wings a little too high and dive
Through the eye of a needle,
Which like I saw tracks of her tears
Shot to hell as she sang her own
Swan song & died without feeling pain;

Trapped inside a body that
Never felt like it was mine
As my stepmother did with it
Whatever she wanted
When dad wasn’t around;
Afraid of my own dreams
Which give encore performances
Like clockwork inside my head

Each night when I fall asleep,
But they’re all I’ve got that I can call mine.

©1997 

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