Whatever cruel, sick reason he had for leaving her with the son that would never get to see the father’s face-

he made sure he left without a trace.



There once was a girl

whose grey stormy eyes

reflected such inner demise.


Troubled as she was

she always said it was because

he loved another girl.


As children we stand on our tippy-toes

trying to get a peep at the future ahead.

So eager to be older,

we forget to live our youths.

But if someone had said adulthood

would knock you right down to your bottom

and force you to learn how to walk again

perhaps i would not have been so eager

to take those foolishly excited steps

into adulthood.


If she were to break

it would not be a sharp shattering of glass

nor a quick clean snap like a bittersweet bar of chocolate.

If she were to break

it would not be a slow, subtle crumble

durt down a mountainside.

If she were to break

it would be a slow, steady mudslide,

bringing down all aspects of her life to the bottom of the hill

all mixed together in the dirt, irreparable.

You cannot pick everything up after a mudslide and put it back exactly as it was.

You move it away, bury the dirt elsewhere, and build on top of it.

But it will never be exactly as it was.