Lilacs

Bleeding, crying and hiding.

Scared of the train that went past your house at exactly midnight,

but really just scared of everything.

You were supposed to run wild and build blanket forts.

Instead, you hid out of fear. Under your bed and behind the lilac trees.

 

 

They were supposed to love you.

To make you Mickey Mouse pancakes, ask you how your day was and tuck you in at night.

Manipulation and toxic narration are your replacements for bed time stories.

They do things to you which make you wish you had never been born.

Yet, no one sees

or is it that no one cares?

When all seems lost and broken and I wonder how much longer I shall live, the lilacs are my friend.

The purple bushes show me safety, beauty and growth.

While they attempted to destroy everything that I am, they didn’t realize that isn’t in their power. 

Like the lovely lilacs, my branches break at times and my twigs snap.

When storms come, parts of me are battered, but altogether I am stronger.

When the skies clear, I am a little bud of hope - full of potential.

The raging storms could have killed me.  So please, don’t think I’m grateful for them.  I merely understand I can’t change the past, I can only accept it. 

 

Sunshine comes and goes, but I don’t rely on others. 

No one can take away or add to my light. 

I create my own warmth now and I tell the little, broken girl that she doesn’t have to hide anymore.

- Survived hell by myself

This poem is about: 
Me

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