PoetryKafe

One in two is better odds,
To be seen, than one in three,
One in four is heavier odds,
Of being passed over with ease.

Coming in line the second eldest,
In a family comprised of all girls,
Everyone fighting for a scrap of praise
All growing up, in a woman’s world.

Sometimes recognized for your good,
Sometimes punished for same,
Often ignored and unloved it seemed,
Not a very nice childhood game.

Was it right to be accused?
Was it ok to be blamed?
To be seen in the same vein as the useless men,
Who will remain un-faced and un-named.

Sporadic Compassion in kind words,
Rare arms that held and then healed,
Encouragement lost in the swell of anger,
Pain replaces feelings that won’t yield.

Years and tears have moved on,
Tides of words thought and spoken,
Sorrow for what is lost to us now,
The grip of the past is still not broken.

In the serene room just once a week,
60 Minutes to talk, hurt and cleanse,
Kind words, encouragement-sometimes foreign,
Shattering of rose coloured lens.

Picking at a scab not well healed,
Delving down under your skin,
Ripping out the flesh that has mutated,
Freeing the invisible child within.

by Mikey McCormack

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