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Broken
An ode to the child I once was:
The crippled, broken girl sittiing on the floor
With a tattered barbie doll and droplets of blood on her shirt
And to the young girl I'd grow into:
Walking home alone in the street
Battered and broken
Looking for acceptance in every man that I would meet
And to the teenager:
Who saught refuge in a narcissist
Who played house,
Made love,
Left only with a hungry baby and another broken home to show for it
But mainly, to the woman I have become
Strong and fierce
The architect of my own happy home.
I wish I could have loved those girls so hard that their broken pieces mended
I wish I could have whispered in the dark nights
reassurance of a happy ending
The crippled, broken girl sittiing on the floor
With a tattered barbie doll and droplets of blood on her shirt
And to the young girl I'd grow into:
Walking home alone in the street
Battered and broken
Looking for acceptance in every man that I would meet
And to the teenager:
Who saught refuge in a narcissist
Who played house,
Made love,
Left only with a hungry baby and another broken home to show for it
But mainly, to the woman I have become
Strong and fierce
The architect of my own happy home.
I wish I could have loved those girls so hard that their broken pieces mended
I wish I could have whispered in the dark nights
reassurance of a happy ending
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