Little Girl in the Burning House

I want to have a conversation with

My six-year-old self;

Give her a hug and let her sit on my

Lap, not pushing her away even though my

Knee hurts.

 

I want to show her the birds

And the rabbits and the deer with

The antlers,

I want to tell her that her momma is

Not the tooth fairy and her father

Is not her savior.

 

I was born in a burning house,

I survived but there's still water damage.

That little girl is being burned by the

Second, I'm scared that when she's older

She won't recognize herself in the mirror

Because I know she doesn't.

 

I want to tell her not to eat that cashew brownie,

You are being poisoned and it will

Hurt. I want to tell her to protect herself,

To yell as loud as she can and to put

The blanket over her head when she feels

Scared.

 

I want her to go outside and ride

Her bike with the neighbors, that one girl

Is a bitch but she's the only one there;

That's OK, you will survive her comments

And birthday parties and the miserable summer

Heats and the snow forts and the laughter.

 

I want her to ride just a little further than

Her dad said she was allowed;

And I want her to bring more layers when

She goes camping, because it's cold,

She's not used to the cold; she was

Born in a burning house.

 

I want to tell her that there's no such thing 

As being fat, that the other girl was just

Seven and didn't understand how her

Words will affect you for the

Rest of her life. I want to tell

Her that she's beautiful and she's normal

And the pink T-shirts are the best thing ever

And maybe you can smile with your teeth a

Little longer or maybe you can have that

Extra scoop of ice cream because you are

Not fat.

 

I want to hug her and not let go,

Because so many of the hands that

Touched her were with violent intent;

I want to tell her that it's not her fault,

It's not her fault and it never will be,

Never was and never will be.

 

I want her to play house but don't be the

Teenager, you won't want to be when you

Really are; I'm jealous of you.

 

I would tell her I love her and that I will

Forever, even if it doesn't always seem

Like it. I want to tell her that the monster

Isn't under the bed, that the princess night

Light will last forever if you let it,

That there's no such thing as getting too old.

 

I want to tell her that she's a child.

She's a child, and things will change

And it will hurt inside and out,

And that you were not born to hurt,

You were not born angry but the

Fire around you burned you beyond repair.

 

She was born in a burning house

With invisible flames 

And that white picket fence.

 

I want to hold her and let

Her cry into my shoulder,

Her screams echoing around the room

And sobs staining my shirt.

I want to patch up her wounds and

Make her forget,

I want to help her through the hurt

And hold her hand while she rides her bike,

Because I don’t want her to fall and scrape

Her knees. 

 

I want to tell her it’s OK

To say ‘I love you’ when you don’t

Know what it means, and

I want to tell her to hug the stuffed bear,

Name it Bear and call the other one

Bear’s cousin, the other one big bear

And the last one Joey.

 

I want to go back in time to

Sing, to speak, to laugh and love and learn.

I want to go back in time to

Protect that little girl because maybe she

Needs it too. 

I want to go back in time to

Cry with my grief apparent in my yells;

Not afraid to let everything out without

The possibility of someone hearing me.

 

I want to go back in time;

I want to have a conversation with

My six-year-old self;

Give her a hug and let her sit on my

Lap, not pushing her away even though my

Knee hurts.