Cathartic

I tried to love her. I so was anxious to love her. A child can endure such abuse. I have finally broken the noose. She was unto a monster; But a child’s eyes are naïve— Even the bitterness of abuse seems Sweet in the eyes of a youngster. O’ how a child yearns for affection— Only to be mistreated unto dejection. A child can easily become infected— Ruined and wretched by adolescence. I tried to love her. I was so anxious to love her. A child can endure such abuse. I have finally broken the noose. My eyes water as I introspect. Within me are splinters I must disinfect. I have prayed to breathe— I have prayed to break free of her disease. I have finally broken the noose; But it is difficult to completely break loose. Agonizing remnants pierce the heart— As I ponder of abuse, my poetic art. If not for abuse, would I be art? If not for abuse, would I possess this spark? Should I despise mother? Am I not a poet? O’ how a child yearns for affection— Only to be mistreated unto dejection. A child can easily be infected— Ruined and wretched by adolescence. I cry for mother. My eyes ache for mother. I want so much to love for mother. I am Confused, a reborn child abused. But I Love Mother, she is my poetic dam. Naive