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Six-Years-Old

A Poem

By Dessy MariePublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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I remember being 6-years-old and sharing not only a room, but a bed with my mother.

Spending the cold winter nights in her dark warm arms.

Listening to her harsh yet soothing snore in spring.

Falling asleep as she ran her fingers through my thick hair in fall.

Missing her, as the room filled with her absence during the summer, she never stayed in the summer.

I remember being 6 and thinking my life was complete.

Now i no longer share a room nor be with my mother.

Spending the cold winter nights alone.

Listening to the soft trees, as they call for me in the spring.

Staying up all night due to the paranoia that consumes me in the fall.

Missing her, as my room again fills with her absence during the summer.

It feels as if my mother is dead, but no she is simply absent.

Absent but not dead.

I remember being 6, taking my mother's love for granted.

I should have loved her better, longer, in every way i could. Being 6 should have lasted longer. Ignoring my mother should have never happened.

Now she ignores me, she is absent and i am alone.

I remember being 6-years-old and sharing not only a room, but a bed with my mother. Those were the happiest moments of my life.

slam poetry
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