Name Her

Raw, not writing of regret.

I am afraid to acknowledge the legitimacy of the things that have hurt me in my life.

I cannot feed myself nourishment,
nor the information to overcome lack of hope that picks away
at potential that I am not sure existed.

Seven years ago I felt a flood
that I didn't try to swim through,
poor Hazel plagued me before she was real
and didn't have face to see,
would she have looked like me?

Stuck in a world of songs without her
that I know I wanted,
but I still struggle to dance to.

The right choice doesn't ever make you happier,
just somehow less sad,
but more terrified.

There is never enough time to gather all my courage,
I've dealt in the unpreparedness of being young
and without experience.

I shed all my tears over her
just in time for them to replenish
and I'd never have it any other way.


Hazel The Potential Child,

who doesn't exist,
just shatters me to think of,
why did I have to name her?

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Is there such a thing as polished raw? This is thick with emotion, but it doesn't scream at us or beat us around the head, because some writers have the fortunate gift of being too good for that.

[. serah .]

~ ohhhh... what a volatile sadness... it dangles without a resolution and tempts one to think of an impossible freedom... forever looking back and unable to move ahead...