The Braid

[Child]
I have a mouth now
I can speak
Through pen and paper
It's not so bleak
Any more.

I couldn't understand
Why sometimes upper hands
They made me mute
I couldn't handle it; I split.

When I was five
I was too young to drive
But that did stop them not
From treating me like I was rot.

Anger born
With whiskey, I was torn
And temper tantrums raged
Outside and from within.

Woman came to rescue
And it was a mess, was no
Communication
There's no trust.

I have a house
I found a home...
 
And the three
They braided into one
And now, my story isn't done
'Cause sometimes child needs to speak.

Thank you for
Assisting me
Through swamps
And infestations
Writing's not for the
Affliced
But for those
Who want it.

8-20-09