Being my own..

Walking out 

Stuck down in there 

In the trenches with you

Scoop you up 

Warmth from your small body 

Carry you through 

I’m larger now

My arms are of protection

They weren’t before  

Clothed in blankets from

the lives I’ve lived

and all the people, except you

Who’ve shown me the door 

You feel like another little one 

The most precious person 

in the world 

You were an angel

You are my baby girl 

They mocked and laughed 

at you 

The weirdness, the discomfort

You didn’t want to be true

But you deserved arms 

and being held

I can be strength 

I model consistency 

A pillar, with chunks 

ripped out 

I’m here, not perfection

But infallible - and sorry  

I can do that for you 

And as shells grip me

and they fall into you

This makes you, all

the more, treasured

I’m here, not perfection 

We’re here

and we are perfection to you

I’m older now

..

Tarastar trauma

writer

poetry, mental health matters