playing house

she spins in circles
to dizzy herself
and blur the realities
that sometimes suffocate
her childhood

daydreaming
of moms that hug
and dads that love-
the image of joy
is clutched tightly
in her moistened palm.

the muffle of empty conversation
pulses through creaking boards,
as she remembers a distant time
when she had joined them;
when she knew how to laugh
and live


in absence, she cannot help
but calmly reminisce
of those bluest eyes
and the softest disposition;

but in reality,
the beating in her temples
too often recall
the daily beatings...

and her desperation to behold {be held}
is too much for one soul to bear.