This is from the internet, but it reminds me somewhat of me at an early age.
No one speak of her again Unless in tones hushed, "Later we will talk" "Shhh! Don't let the child know how her mother died." She's too young to understand Is self-destruction inherited? Does it float around the genes? Is security destroyed when one fine day The lady disappears? Gone~never caress again With loving arms wrapped around her child fifteen-months old. The plateau has been reached Opened faced look into the mirror Her death certificate states Death by suicide Ingestion of mercury cyanide A child now weeps, grieves for the mother Looks into the mirror and sees Cotton hair, wrinkles deeply creased Aware of how life's insecurities dwelt Buried with the words~ no one speak of her again Baby cries momma, momma time after time She does not come No matter how hungry, tired, cold, wet On the outside nor how much pain Cutting deep within until trust, security is destroyed Repost from a long time ago. This is my truth. I was adopted 3 months later at age 18 months, and I had a good life with parents who introduced me to God and His Son Jesus.
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This is from the internet, but it reminds me somewhat of me at an early age.