deepundergroundpoetry.com
Lost Girl
where does the little girl go?
where does she go?
I want to tell her it’s ok to need the wind
whipping through her long, wild hair
when her soft, bare feet have
grown calloused, running
out of lush, green grass and
her face no longer basks
unapologetically in the sun
where does she go?
I want to tell her it’s ok to need to be held
by those supposed to love you most
when her arms cease reaching
upwards to be cradled against
her mother’s breast,
and her chin becomes too wise
to rest on her father’s shoulder
Where does she go?
I want to tell her it’s ok to need to feel safe
inside her own skin
when her eyes that once searched
the skies for every visit by the moon
now settle downward, her heart hiding
within musky, dog-eared pages,
escaping under shady backyard trees
where does the little girl go?
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