Angry little child

Little angry child,
on the inside,
you know that you are,

just frustrated,
poised to lash out,
with justice,
and from the lack of respect given,

this space you’re hidden in,
is tight,
constraining and conflicted,

all the times you run around,
in your head,
in mine,
screaming for sensibility,
and a better way,

howling in the night,
alone,
alone within me,

you bang at the windows,
begging to call home,
but there is no home anymore,
he does not call,
he does not write,
nor strike out a hand to pick you up,

abandoned,

by everyone,

you feel,
at times,

pointless,

you scribble with ink,
in carbon,
and crayons,

but it all just sinks,
into some,
recycle bin,

don’t cry,
little angry child,
you poor traumatised babe,
hasnt it been an age,
since we truely talked,

and hasn’t it been long enough?

Angry little child,
I do feel love for you,
and I love you,

I have devided us,
so that my pain doesn’t become you,
so that death will not see me tormented,
as you have been,

as I have been,

we are one and the same,
angry little one,
with gold white strands of hair,
those big green eyes,
and that quiet stare,

I am you in another life,
in an older time,
dirty gold hair,
jade eyes,
and full of thought,

we belong together,
don’t cry alone,
cry with me,
and be angry a little less,
or no more.

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