People’s Pieces

I feel robbed, looking at old photos of the person I will not know.

She is a walking memorial of pain through generations, now.
A soul damaged and haunted for so long her shell has withered and her mind has warped.
I can see green eyes once reverberating with rage, now sad because so many people have fled the darkness behind the green.
Within conditions not too far, I have seen the girl. She loves to paint musicians with her favorite DJ playing loud enough to drown out the thoughts and memories she can be brave enough to leave home in a skirt if she is happy enough. She was one night, in the early 2000s.

But, life will always bury her again in a loneliness that has nothing to do with how much you love her for all she is, and could be.

We’ve left out of self-preservation. Because no one who could have found her amid the wreckage of her mind, cared enough to reach in as we children had to.

The hardest part isn’t dealing our resulting scars, but knowing that somewhere beyond hers was once a light.
Seeing that light of personhood, and not being able to hold onto it.


Published by sickybeat

I am a writer with an extremely active imagination. I love learning answers to questions and what makes everything and everyone tick. I am a "Unique case, medically" if nothing else. I am flawed in my extreme aversion to failure (even when "success" isn't good for me,) but have come a long way in ditching the perfectionist mindset. I like people whose default setting toward others is compassion, an open mind, and honesty

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