I always dreamed of you, I don't know what it was that I did or didn't do.
I was yours and you made me.
Maybe I just wasn't strong enough for you to feel me.
Or I wasn't sensitive enough to hear you.
Maybe I wasn't big enough to be worthy of your love and admiration.
I tried though, to grow fast, to be strong, to try and hear your lovely voice.
Love created me and I hoped love I would recieve.
Before I knew it though...
I felt something unnatural.
I squirmed, recoiling as cold wind hit my face then it all went black and that sweet, safe warmth I once felt was gone.
I now never will have a chance to show you what I could be.
Maybe you want me back, but it's too late I suppose.
Because my blood cries out for you mama, it cries out for vengence!
Now your womb, my once safe place, is empty and i'm gone.
About the Creator
Skyln Grace
I am a passionate writer with a mind to work and an armature artist doing what I love with the hopes of inspiring others, giving hope and speaking the truth with a shameless voice through my work.
Check out -> www.pinterest.com/Just_Pencils
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Bunkers and Dragons
Chapter 1: It wasn't always this Way "There weren't always dragons in the valley." an old voice choaked out. I had ought to be asleep, but restless, strangling thoughts are keeping me from it. My eyes wondered around the closing darkness searching for the owner of the statement. A useless practice I had a knack for doing. people would always say something here and there out of curiosity I suppose which only roused everyone else in the dirt-caked bunker. I flinched. The musty smell of dirt filled my nostrils as another round of shaking begun and my body vibrated along with the noise. With it came with what sounded like thunder, but we all knew full well it was the sound of another roaring, destructive beast which everyone likes to refer to as a dragon. I used to tremble at these sounds with the most horrible thoughts at hand but now after it's constant occurrence it's just like a poke to my numbed brain. Although at times, like now, pulls me close to the wonder of what's going on above this sweat stained, stone bunker and how long we still have in it. I glanced over at my forest green, solid and nearly burnt-out electric lamp and turned it on. Hoping no insects come to overwhelm it although some company would be nice. Not that I was alone physically in this place but with everyone going through the trauma of...well everything that has happened in the past year nobody, but annoying, greedy little kids want to have anything to do with a stranger when they got themselves and everything else to think about. Being the person I am, I try and turn to the well the most notorious people of the group. The elders. They're very few of them now more than ever since people stopped treating their extra-special needs that come with age, because of the more pressing, basic needs of the group such as water, food and safety but they can be of some company if you can get past the smell of their side of the bunker which reeks of every horrible thing the human body can make. I've tried but, it's a very difficult thing to master. So, most of the time I try to be content with my small space in this dark, suffocating, overgrown bunker. Now I look around with a silent presence as everyone is in what we call sleep but truly is only a brief moment from our thoughts.Maybe this is what they mean by losing my mind because everyday that passes i feel myself drifting farther from reality as darkness consumes every image that once brought me joy. All i have is those memories of when my life was what we used to call normal! Now My mind involuntary replaying the words of the mysterious voice "there weren't always dragons in the valley", Boy was that statement so true, and I wish it weren't.
By Skyln Grace2 years ago in Fiction
The River's Due
The river in our village was everything. Giver of life, bringer of death. It provided you with good fortune or stole your future. It was where the priests baptized us and the grandmothers blessed us afterward, in between the washing. The river’s spirit whispered to us all, every day of our lives. When someone was lost to the river, those same traveling priests claimed God had called them home. We nodded to make them feel better, but we knew it was the river that had come calling for its due. We may have come to accept Jesus as our savior, but had our doubts he would have tried to walk our river.
By Shaun Walters2 days ago in Fiction
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