Novels and Creative Writing, Trigger Warning!, Uncategorised

Conversations with my 13 year old Self

P!nk does the healing work
Her example creates, succeeds, motivates.
She started out bratty, different,
Let’s Get This Party Started! Bleargh.
But she’s worked through that, and ended up
Raw, honest, a wounded healer; more artist than merchandise;
A knitting together of dreams, effort, growth, joy and panic rather than plastic fantastic,
Her self-liberation liberates others.

Conversations with my 13 year old Self

When I was 13 I wanted to be a teacher and a missionary in Africa,
I wanted 10 kids
And to save the world.
I joined the school band, choir and debating team.
I babysat every afternoon.
At 13 I was bossy and arrogant,
Patronising and overly direct:
I couldn’t fit in with my peers.
I also had seeds of strength, creativity, and kindness,
Quietly rooting themselves into my personality.

And the others—those men
Both internal and external to me.
They haunted the edges of my consciousness
A snap of images from the past
Ashamed, I’d turn my head,
Or a shard of someone younger than me who lives inside
Ciphering out– her head dripping round the door of my consciousness
Internal him using my hands to cut the malleable bounce of my legs and stomach.
External him sending shocks of fear through my body
The smell of cigarettes, beer, and sex, the growl of male voices,
My shudder of horror when I hear those footsteps, those keys.
Pain and panic blinding me,
Blinding the parts of me that still remember, still experience.

At 13 I could read all day
Novels and stories—so many quick reader books written with simplicity in mind.
I had so much energy and time went on forever
Stretching into a future that would definitely be better than today.

I disliked his hands on me
Eyes assaulting through the peeky hole between the bathroom and kitchen.
Anyone could look– he let anyone look: his friends.
And I looked too.
In 1999 they chose that life

In 2022 they choose their lives.

In 2022 I’m basking in
That ephemeral substance of living past your past,
Growing through your past,
Embracing: intangible assets of compassion, language, and love of learning.

My parents?
How do you grow though a past that you can’t accept occurred?
Lost to resentment and denial, they bask in
Disappointment and regrets.

Poor things.

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I am not a financial advisor. I do not have an AFSL. I am a chick who likes to read, think, write, and has access to google. You should treat this blog with the same seriousness that you would treat anyone whose main qualification is access to google. This blog is for entertainment purposes only. It’s a little like watching The Good Place for nerds or artists.

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