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Irene

Irene,
he would say;
I love you,
and you will always be my little girl.
I would smile,
and hold tighter to his hand,
happy to be Irene.
And it seemed as I grew up,
it would always be the same-
Grandpa and his Hailie Irene.
But time changes people-
or at least it makes us wiser-
And I started to see
what Grandpa really was underneith,
realizing that I didn't want to be,
forever,
his Little Irene.
I didn't understand;
so I fought back and screamed,
benieth a loving smile,
trying to get away,
but somehow still needing to be his sweet Irene.
I loved him,
and I pretended it was all okay;
I couldn't help it-
I just wanted to be his little girl-
so I tried my hardest to make him believe
that I was still the same Irene.
But as I grew,
so did my thorns,
and the spitfire Rose that I am
clashed mightily with his Little Irene.
Now maybe then he was starting to see the hatred,
bubbling,
waiting to burst through the surface,
but he wanted to be blind,
cautiously teasing me,
asking for his Hailie Irene.
We would never be the same
after I allowed Rose to bloom,
and when my full name finally took effect,
I couldn't hanndle pretending;
I had to tell the truth-
I was no longer his darling Irene,
but Hailie Irene Rose,
for evermore.
I lashed out with words and thorns,
and I guess he never knew
that I know the evil he really is.
And now,
To me,
He is silent,
and no longer asks for Irene.





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