Short Short Story of A Childhood
I grasped for happiness with fat fistsFeeling only vapors slip through my fingers.
That odd mixture of cotton candy compliments
And the filthy stench of rejection.
The rough brush of my mother's touch
Lasted just for a fleeting moment.
Yet long enough to painfully stir up
The emptiness in my aching soul.
My deep grey eyes soak in other mommies
Reflecting their tender offerings to daughters.
Soft shoulders to always lean on
Never minding the messiness of tears.
Mommies holding out their very hearts
on open palms-gifts to their baby girls.
Pain flashes through my "baby doll" eyes
Knowing even then the role my mom had
Molded herself into held none of the
Beauty of God's handiwork in her.
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