Days of the innocent
Children go outside, get lost in make-believe
Carrying secrets not knowing the weight
Believing the same of their playmates
As they grew with invisible cracks
Fractures in a vulnerable infrastructure
Building blocks of brain damage
Recognized when I left
Remembered when you howled
Catastrophic collapse
Razor sharp relics resurface
Regurgitated into some semblance of secure sanity
Mixed with blood and memories
The thread goes deeper
Deeper than generations
Unbroken and terrifyingly tethered
Come with me, I am not too much
Standing in the vacant street screaming
Purging my fullness
And creating a less visible version
With softer edges
Wishing and
Wanting
Warmth
A Wise Woman Writes 