Low deep rumbling conceived at a tender age has
now gestated to the birth
of the agonized soul now before
you.
Hurts suffered silently at the
bear claws of elders respected
and size reigning superior.
What was stolen before
maturation or comprehension
creates the blackhole void
at the core of my (un)being.
Writhing and knotted; convulsively
eager to establish its malignancy to
my most intimate self.
Bethie, where are you my little pet?
Your sweet unfettered innocence
encasing you in a kaleidoscope
of goodness, trust, and stability...
a heavy cloak of the lightness of her (my)being.
Beth-tie you cloak tighter
hold on...you must withstand the
gale force coming to disrobe you of your
dignity and pride.
Bethie, you should have fought harder you
stupid little bitch.