Childhood is supposed to be the most idyllic part of a young life. It saddens me deeply when someone dares to interrupt that reverie and darkens or ruins what should be a golden time. lmr

I have seen the effects of
neglected childhoods. I have
looked into these eyes
and seen histories
rife with sad and
awful stories of black
and blue mysteries
that lead to abused
and shackled identities
attached and fused to
sepia hues of hurt, pain
and injury. Childhood

smiles should be
bright, joyful and free, never 
steeped and dotted by sores and 
bruises that tether the wings
of a tender spirit. A six year-old

kid is far too sensitive to hold
back tears.  A six year-old
kid is far too small
to become a receptacle
for years of fists
or words so sick
they sear into the skin,
leave memories raised
like scar tissue...
or worse, leave blisters
that bleed and pus over,
forming callouses,
so hard,
they become embedded
in bone.

People forget sometimes
how  human,
how fragile
we are. We are...

We ARE!   Who are we

if not the orphaned children of


copyright © 2016 by L.M. Ross

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