Junesse

I'm sitting on the staircase.

I'll breathe in,

the air of this house that has melded my teeth

and keeps me from the warm sun

entering my lungs.

And I'll breathe out,

feeling the youth that supposedly I possess

barreling out into the air,

disintegrating against my responsibilities.

How old am I?

If the researchers were to find my body

exactly as it is now,

would they remark on the damage to the wrist bones?

Would they note the Marie Antoinette paintings that cover my head?

Would they note the fangs that line my teeth in rows?

They'd believe me to be 25 at the youngest.

25 with 3 kids.

If someone had no idea who I was

and saw me out at the park,

holding my darling childs hand

and looking like I just rolled out of bed,

would they believe me to be my age?

If they saw how short my breath is,

how I yell,

how I wish for the simpler times,

would they believe me if I said what I actually am?

I don't know how I'm supposed to act.

I haven't anyone around me that isn't stressed.

No one except for the one I call my daughter.

But she's not my daughter.

I'm no ones mother.

I'm 15.

And I don't know how to act 15.

And I'm scared.

I'm scared that,

one day,

I'll wake up in my 40's

and realize I don't remember anything.

I don't remember anythingfrom ages 7-15,

it's all just a black hole.

Passing moments

of sounds

and feelings are all I have.

And now,

all I can do is sit here.

Breathing on a staircase.

Waiting for my baby to return.

If I cannot live for me,

I will live for her,

and him,

and them,

and anyone else who cares about me.

You guys are different,

you could have it all.

I only left for a week.

I came back,

and there she was.

She hit a growth spurt whilst I was gone

and the only thing I could think was

"That's my girl.

That's my beautiful daughter.

That's the one I have poured

so much time

and effort

to raise.

That's my pride and joy

who I named."

I held her so tight in my arms,

talking about how big she's grown.

I looked in her eyes

and, though her eyes are brown,

I saw hazel.

Her blonde hair is curly,

but I saw it as pin straight.

She's half my height now

and I can barely pick her up anymore.

I see a past I had once,

with energy and kindness,

determination and relentlessness.

I see everything I hope to be

and everything that I achieved

all bundled into one precious girl.

A girl who loves to sing,

a girl who loves to read,

a girl who loves horror,

a girl just like me.

The moment she was born,

I swore to protect her,

to give her the best chance at life I could.

The storm is coming.

The wind is picking up.

I can't hold onto her forever.

The tree that bends with the wind

has a better chance

than the one who stands strong.

Be the willow, my child.

I will be the oak.

Move with the wind, my reflection.

I will block as much as I can for you.

Be as radiant and ethereal as you can be,my sister.

I will be your gaurdian.

dark alternative pre-teen who's a little ball of sunshine

These two figurines I have keep moving but not in a creepy way, in a dancing way. It looks like the angel is trying to show her the image on her dress.