I was the not always only child,
the lonely child,
the child with large, pain-racked eyes,
every mothers dream child,
never a bother,
never seen or heard,
"I am sorry - it was all my fault,"
I screamed our within myself.
I was the child with Shirley Temple's curls,
the color of sunlight,
blue-gray eyes that looked for answers,
yet found none,
starched dresses in blues,
whites, lavenders, or greens,
the pretty one,
the hurting one,
my friends took care of me for a while,
I was the fragile one,
and slowly I healed...
or so everyone thought.
The fragility turned into a bitter hardness,
withdrawing into my shell,
I told the world to go to hell,
my parents were confused,
but let me fight my own
inner teenage wars...alone.
I wanted to escape and run off to
Paris, England, Scotland,
but I ended up here....
here with you and your children.
Then I was the wife, the mom,
Where was the I?
I searched for myself everywhere
entered the halls of knowledge,
there I was, waiting patiently
I grew like bluebonnets
along a Texas highway.
I discovered that even though I was
a wife, a mother, a daughter,
I was someone in my own right...
Then I sat down
with paper and pen
The pains escaped from within my heart
and mind through my fingers,
I looked down and found myself.....