My childhood
was a fairytale
where a wolf
waited to devour,
and witches
spoke spells
to silence
my tongue.
There was
no Prince Charming
in my story
to rescue me
when large hands
pulled me into
the dark.
Evil, fanged and hideous,
gorged on my
blonde haired ,
blue eyed innocence,
leaving bones of fear
to rattle in my chest.
I remained the prey,
chained in my terror
by threats and
drowned kittens
until the beast
grew tired of me
and sought
new innocents
to destroy.
Set free I had
no freedom.
I was locked
inside secrets
until a pen gave
me the key
to open hell’s prison.
Poetry gave the
paralyzed child inside
a voice to speak of
nightmares that were real,
and freedom to come
out of the dark.
©Susie Clevenger 2011
Comments
you remind me of my own childhood experiences.
way to go,
have a fun time at poetry picnic.
http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/09/04/haggle-baggily/
My entry: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/09/04/blood-on-the-moon-2/
Thank you for responding to the Real Toads Wednesday challenge.
In some people, the basic save-the-child instinct is either lost or morbidly misshapen.
So well put, so very well told. Thank you.
— K
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel
Poetry is a gr8 conduit for expression