poetry · realistic · Writing

The Time Catalyst

I wrote this poem (if you can accept a piece of creative writing that lacks most poetry rules as a poem) whilst practicing my controlled free-writing sessions. It’s a very raw piece of material that has seldom been edited.

I knew this girl once, a small pitiful child
Past around houses as if abominable and wild,
She never knew why things were so
But sensed that she’d never have; a home,
A mother, a father, brother or sister
For no one loved, kissed or ever missed her.

Memories fact or memories fiction,
The little girl didn’t yet know how to listen
She screamed with longing for someone to care
But everyone was busy pulling out; hair,
Needles, pills and vials
What were they doing, they’re pupils off by miles.

I can see now, clearer than before
But will never forgot the slamming of each door
It was I, who lived through motherly Heroin bliss, and
Watching at the other end for father constantly pissed.
Alone in the world, my siblings; us three,
No food, clothes or rations,
Only imaginations to help us blindly see.

The story gets happier, though I did not flea
I sat through the whole ordeal patiently waiting to breath,
One day when time permitted
I walked my own path feeling unrequited.
My mind raced, coiling through the seasons,
There I fell, at despairs great struggle, bleeding.

I’ve learnt about love and this ‘happiness’ thing
How the world is beautiful and I was made to Spring.
I can, do what I please, be who I desire
Read books of knowledge, passion and fire
I will, travel the world rising up higher.
I am, not like those who purposely take the sting away,
Vermin sitting in caves day after day.
Pain is what ascends me, shapes and defines me
I’m a deer in the eye of a storm, I’ll never retreat.
Not even from the day I was born.

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