The Year With No Sun

from girl to grownup.

it is half past twelve;

time for the kids to play outside

sunny skies and

slides the color of sunshine

this is what

recess should consist of

trembling hands,

shaky legs

this recess

is not about fun

no

pushed down

knees in the dirt,

a ruined pink dress

this is what

her recess consists of

for he is much bigger,

a monstrous thing

with an ego that crescendos

at the sight of pain

and the teachers won't do anything

instead they smile,

hide behind their clipboards

perhaps one lone one will think

"isn't it wrong?"

but the thought

must never be said aloud

after all, boys will be boys

and that's a fact

so here goes the girl

running home

into her mother's arms

"mommy! he did it again!"

soothe back the hair,

put on a smile

"oh silly child!

he likes you!"

and there is no mention

of the difference

between abuse and affection

so flash forward twenty years

here sits the girl

on a beaten up couch

frail skin, pale eyes

this is the sign of a girl

who's memory of

a happy playground hoax

and soothing,

deluded words is

all too clear

her days are spent

with a deeper threat than

a boy on a playground

because she never imagined

this one would have

chocolate hair

and eyes that glow

or that

he'd reteach her

the most important thing of all

that hitting

is equivalent to love