Floating, hovering like a dragonfly
in search of a safe landing place.
Roaming, travelling, never settling,
in constant fear of desolation.
No beginning, and no end in sight -
- suspended animation - certain of my creation,
but hanging like a mist or balanced
like a spider on its gossamer web.
Unconditional love did not exist for me:
there was always a condition.
Insecure security - no blood ties you see.
No sense of belonging, so belonging nowhere.
The illusion was there
and I believed it for a while.
My childhood innocence allowed me that,
but now, in callous adulthood, I am spared no pain.
In harsh reality, cold light of day,
the truth is stark: I was abandoned,
given birth to and relinquished
for no reasons known to me.
No explanation given. No excuses.
An inebriated memory, or a raped repugnance.
Yes, an unhappy, irritating accident probably.
Born and gone - out of sight and out of mind.
The effects of that inauguration
are hardly ever seen - they're privately
wept for; written about; drunkenly
discussed at dinner, or in times of
despondency, dwelt unhealthily upon,
when their deep-seatedness shallows
into consciousness and lurches from
my dreams into reality - forcing face-to-face
acknowledgement that I was not
meant to be: that my existence was
a nuisance, a niggling inconvenience
to be discarded heartlessly.
Copyright © Helen J Radford | Year Posted 2008
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