Her House

You’re stood upon the precipice, gonna take the sacred plunge

Gonna dive into her mind, gonna see what you can find,

A mind made up in townhouse style, a floor for each event

Of trials, tribulations and memories long spent.

Downstairs, the basement, a kindergarten room,

Awash with screams of joy,

The innocence of childhood, no fears would dare destroy.

Naivety, exuberance, precipitating youth,

A manic state of anarchy, through learning, play and truth.

Upstairs, the bedrooms, the dens of teenage angst,

A silent floor of hormone change, but little or no thanks.

Where she develops her own ID, a full three-fold attack,

Spiritual, Emotional and physical, it's where her dreams are at

For these formative years, mould her mind and body set

But are riddled with self-doubt, demons she can't forget.

Someone took her took her childhood days, and pressed her faith so hard,

She's lost her will to trust, wounds cut by cuts of shards.

And then there is the attic: An eclectic mix of things,

Of joyous memories and happy days

Tied up with coloured strings.

But then there are the ghosts, of scars she cannot heal

They're in the locked up trunks, never to reveal

Until the doubts come flooding back, a trigger always set,

a smell, a sound or vision, these fears are never met.

For whilst she hides them well enough, they always find a hole,

And creep out unexpectedly, and torture her lost soul.

You know she hurts, deep down inside, and no-one can appease,

The help of friends and allies, must fill her heart with glee,

For there is nothing more precious, than friendship, love and hope,

To make her life complete, her dreams far less remote.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Stolen Innocence. Found Friendship.

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