Thirteen

byWillow Rain©

I’m losing her.
My reaching grasp
catches bits of dark hair,
and scraps of fabric.
She winds out of my fleeting touch
fluid and liquid as an eel.

My heart chokes my neck,
stuffed tight and constraining.

She will not wait.
She leaps toward the adult world
with risky mad lunges,
wet and sweaty
with effort.

My hands
find no purchase,
as I try and help her find her steps
on the crumbling and unsteady path that is
adolescence.

She resists every effort.
Each attempt
scatters
dirt
life
herself
everywhere.

I howl
each time she stumbles and bloodies herself.
My terror keeps time
with her racing efforts
and I swallow every beat.

Don’t run.
Don’t run.
Don’t run.

I am a broken record,
playing only for myself.

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byWillow Rain© 3 comments/ 1346 views/ 0 favorites

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