As a child I use to pretend.. My sisters and I.. Looking through catalogs.. Picking out future homes.. I always wanted modern things.. My older sister wanted a house with a library.. My baby sister wanted a house with a swing.. Then we picked the children we would have.. Blonde blue eyed children .. That would live in our dreams.. Young vibrant children.. who would never have to worry about the same things.. We lived with day to day.. Night after night.. I never picked out a child.. Never wanted to be a part of this kind of love.. Didn't know what to give.. Didn't have a heart to feel.. How was I to even dream this real. Couldn't trust my own heart to heal.. I walked alone to school most days.. Dreaming of a far off place.. At nights I dreamt of ways to get free.. Burning our house down.. When no one was home Just me and the house.. I knew it would not bother them.. That I was dead and gone.. But to take their earthy possesions.. This message would be strong.. Taking all that meant everything to their greedy hearts.. Letting myself burn.. in this house I belonged.. Letting myself burn.. because the future seemed so far gone.. I had the gas.. The mind and heart.. To start this fire.. Let it burn this purgatory on earth .. to ashes.. as it should be.. But what about my sisters.. It is not them I want to suffer.. How am I to go.. with so much guilt inside.. Is there ever a way out.. No.. Not even if I die.. I think it is planned liked this.. A paradox of tricks.. One made to keep you in bondage.. A problem that can never be fixed.. And now that I am older.. I see what this past has caused.. I wonder when it was worse.. Back then .. or here and now.. Seems we still live.. with the same fears .. as we started out. I think I am a writer.. In my heart I think I fail.. I know I am a parent.. But not good enough .. If only my heart were free.... How am I to parent.. When no one parented me? So I do the best I can.. Wishing I could do more.. Wishing I could teach them both.. How much they are adored.. Wishing I could forget that child inside my heart.. That little girl.. left alone.. Who never had a start.. That little girl.. No one hears still.. crying in the dark.
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Reviews of "That Child Inside"
Reviewed by Al Swanson (Reader)
Reviewed on November 10, 2003
wow is this ever elaborate, and boy do you know how to write Erica, what can I say, well done again, Al
hey, the little boy in me feels the same way Erica. I made friends with the little abused in life kid, he knows the whole story and why so does your little girl inside. And since someone knows the reason why there can be understanding. I understand myself and could care less if anyone else does. Quit being a victim, lifes a lot easier. As far as your kids are concerned, even the pros don't have all the answers for raising kids. It's a fly as you go job. Mother of more wisdom than she realizes. Hey you burned and you learned, G
Reviewed by L M (Reader)
Reviewed on November 7, 2003
Erica,
This is so sad and so well done.
"No one hears still..
crying in the dark"
Thanks for sharing
LM
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on November 7, 2003
Hugs! I think your heart shows through this write.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on November 7, 2003
We all never qute get rid of our "child inside" but you have managed to meet yours head-on. I don't know if that head-on meeting is beneficial to you but I do know it is the only way to come toi terms with the demons. To hide is to die.
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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This is so sad and so well done.
"No one hears still..
crying in the dark"
Thanks for sharing
LM
Taylor