The Happy.

I am the loving three year old,

holding mommy’s hand.

Sometimes I see her cry at night,

but I don’t understand.

I am the curious four year old,

and my mommy’s on the floor;

a bottle of clear liquid held in her hands,

it smells like just before.

I am the scared six year old,

and she says we have to hide;

Mommy sees things that aren’t really there,

So we have to sleep outside.

I am the naive eight year old;

and my mommy is getting better;

We dance to silly songs and play;

a chance for a better life together.

I am the hidden nine year old,

underneath brother’s bed;

Glasses are breaking, walls keep shaking;

Mommy and Daddy are shouting at each other;

again and again.

I am the shamed eleven year old,

with lice on her head.

Kids make fun when I am sent home.

The place I got the lice from;

the place where I feel alone.

I am the broken thirteen year old,

to God I will beg, plead and pray;

screaming in my brother’s arms,

as we watched our mother pass away.

I am the lost sixteen year old,

constantly searching for something.

Self-esteem highs go by so fast,

as if my life were nothing.

I am the proud eighteen year old,

who has been accepted into college

In my family, I am the first;

and for once in my life,

I realize my worth.

I am the happy twenty-two year old.

who believes in herself,

who made the climb.

I am the years before me and will be the ones after those,

I am the loving, the curious, the scared,

the naive, the hidden, the shamed, the broken,

the lost and the proud.

I am the happy.