This Child of ME
If I could somehow break free, this frozen child inside of me.
The one that seemed to be bred from hate.
That found no real way to escape, but to trudge through this one-way street.
This child of me.
Understand, always told how to hold my hand, up on her breast, largely trapped with in.
Separating one thin soul, swallowed up, long in whole.
Merged with many other tortured souls, one more created.
Bred to be, look at me. A condom used, and then discarded.
Oh. But taken out for proper use, then quickly hid from eye-sight view, once fulfilled.
This is how I grew to be.
Used by many, aged more than me,
One,Two,Three,Four. Dare I say there’s even more?
Five, Six, Seven, Eight. When did I have time to play?
Can you begin to see, just how this child with in me grew to be?