The Little Girl Inside of...

The little girl inside of ....

I’m dossal in decision; lost in transition from something I’ve put away…feelings for what I want to feel another day. Pushed by society, frantic in abandonment, eager to lead myself out of fear, passionate about not allowing anyone else to touch or feel me. Not able to allow anyone near or close, I hide away any thing of value. Behind that closed door lies a scared frighten girl, who has decided to remain in solitude. Far off in her mind, she’s wrapped herself up with divine, pleasant ventures of what could have been. She plans each day with a trip down memory lane, where she relives what she feels is needed to survive in her precarious state of mind, no matter what the horror it brings. She then decides to take a drive, where she likes to spend her quiet time. After awhile, she finds a path, where she swears up and down has never been touched, and walks towards her hidden river bed. As she sits and cries, over tea with a splash of wine, she never yet understands how she arrived to this place in time. For her, she wallows in fear, always remembering her fears, gently allowing them to take over her each day. She can’t step away, not in her fragile state, not even for a minute for a breath of fresh air. Later in the day, she writes out all her pain, praying that no one will ever read it. Reminders of a childhood of unwanted ness and deceit, secret talks in the halls, father behind bars, death loomed even at birth. Later in life, a repeat of the same, shamed by allowing it to reoccur. She finally found love, deep pure willing love, but banished it out of her heart, scared of getting more hurt, not understanding the depths it actually had bound her. As she wipes the tears, she knows writing it all will never end, never stop until she drowns herself of the fear. She writes for hours, sometimes never comprehending a single word written, just allowing her fingers to do what they must. She writes down her thoughts as if they were something she lost, in a transition of anger and hate. She marks certain pages of what reminds her of the pain, and is too afraid to ever look back at them. As she relives, her pain each day, she reminds herself of the different forks in the road she could have taken. She reminds herself of all the paths that lay beneath her. She reminds herself of all the times, she thought she had found a joy or pleasant memory. Yet for everyone she found, she found destruction and pounced on an opportunity to let it pass and be banished or gone, not allowing any joy to continue. She runs like a child back to the corner of her mind and sits and waits for tomorrow. Her fears never controlled, her anger never allowed to unleash, her hate for herself never able to be beaten. One day will come, and sooner I’m afraid than none, that this little girl will walk deep into her favorite river bed, down past the path, the lost path she seeks daily and allow the sorrow to be drowned instead of living a life of horror that reminds. Some things are easier in life, others have to put up a great fight, and some just can’t see a direction. For this little girl, will banish herself to the underworld, rather than allowing anyone to see her fight from inside. So, back to the transition, back to being dossal, back to life as I know it. Back from my mind, rather, in time, I’ll make sure I close it down. For me, as you can see, I will put my feelings away from what I want to feel another day, not because I don’t care, but because I can’t bare, not having you, not loving you, not being accepted by nor carried for by you not feeling your warmth to melt my cold heart, and not ever every allowing her to leave my mind. So, I’ll remain here, static, still, closed down, left in a stand, placing a painted smile on my face, for all the embrace and feel like nothing has changed.

~ PkS 2005 ©