Girl Left Behind
I was the girl.
No one took time to know her.
They over looked her agony, that was left to smolder beneath her left shoulder.
They never bothered to understand, why would they?
They were more willing to whisper,
about the annoying girl trying to hide incestuous pain, behind eyes and a tear.
People looked so proud to point a perfect, polite finger….
and say, “where are your parents? We never did see you together.
And all these years you didn’t get along? What ever could be wrong?
Your family, such lovely people, you must miss most miserably.
To know what kind of girl you are.
We knew all along you left a frightful mar.
To hurt your mother and father, what a shame!
Disappearing so young, you should have come back to accept your blame!”
“If it were our daughter we would have put a halt, to what was obviously all her fault.”
“Well, the past was long ago.
No point in making a show.
Don’t disrupt our charming lives; you’re in this all alone.
We can’t stand to hear your obsessive moan.
Come now, things are better now, and you’re all grown!”
So in my shameful, solitude,
should I go on like nothing happened?
Or poke around my soul,
that I already know is dead and black as coal,
to keep looking for the emotional part of myself that’s functional.
I know long ago it was striped, bare, cold and left numb.
So by myself, I must try to admit where this nagging pain comes from.
All the while maintaining a good outer appearance of the shell of the girl left behind.
July 15 2000