Linda Winchell (still working on it! / Chicago Illinois)
Ninety Eight pounds soaking wet,
A Pirates treasure in a blouse, a true sunken chest.
Legs that seemed to have no beginning or end,
Uglyness viewed, she hadn't a friend.
Cinderella for Mom, Tom Boy for Dad,
Left to herself, of feelings alone and sad.
Abused by men that she loved beyond words,
Run away child, with her youths stollen years.
No one to talk to, back in those days,
Who would have believed, what this little girl would say?
Wasn't something you spread to neighbors or friends,
Just kept it all inside,
Where childrens pain have no end.
Mothers mid-life crisis she bore,
She did all of Mom's work, she did all her chores.
Scrubbing and cleaning, cooking and such,
No childhood memories, just a little girl out of touch.
Pretty girl hoped one day soon to be,
That was never a thought of hers,
Always told, 'Your as ugly as they'd ever seen! '
Zits on her face, spreading and ready too pop!
She prayed, 'All that's Holy, when will this ever stop? '
Then one day as if none of this was,
A butterfly emerged, from lifes' pain that was caused.
Slender of body, and long silky brown hair,
Blue green of eyes, and large breasts did appear.
Her smile as bright, as the sun shine of day,
Skin clear with rose of cheeks, all flaws gone away.
She now looks in her mirror, but still is dark of her view,
Growing pains and her scars, still remain as if new.
Comments about this poem ('Younger Years' by Linda Winchell )
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