Fall of a Child

Sometimes I miss the child I was
Where life consisted of the simpler things
Like buttercups under chins
Reflecting their sunshine glow
Or digging up worms in Mommy’s garden
And squealing at the slimy texture
That nudged and tickled at my toes
Or even the feeling of pavement scraping my knee
As I stumbled from my dirty scooter
Onto the driveway below
Of whimpering for a kiss on a cut
And pridefully showing off that glittery bandage
To all the kids around and making up tales
Of how the injury was gained
Who knew that those bittersweet wounds
Of activities I once took part in
Could turn into toxic wounds that plagued me
That teased, taunted and bruised
And turned this once happy, independent child
Into a hurting, heartbroken woman
Who can’t look a man in the eye
Without fearing for her life and her heart
And her personal friend was only a mirror
Trying to convince her that her wounds were well deserved