Pulled

A little girl stands with arms open wide.

How must it feel to be the rope in a
game of tug-o-war?

Win or lose, it’s all the same,
the pain of strained muscles
and sinew running down to the core;
almost ripping.

Braided rope is much stronger than a little’s
girl mind or her soul that must hold to a
reality that slowly unwinds.

Her psyche is soft and pliable and will
if pulled, stretched, and thinned out
to nary a whisper of herself, will
harden in the cold stale air and become
brittle and slowly break away in pieces for
all her days to come.