Little Girl

August 19, 2016
By Anonymous

I don’t understand what’s wrong,
At nine years old I was shaking with anger,
And the swings gave me a freedom the ground never did
But the shouting is scary and then I made it to my room, alone
I’m still your little girl?
I don’t understand what’s wrong,
At eleven years old I grabbed a glass
And mixed some vodka with my water
It wasn’t enough to get me drunk
But the redness of the world now is causing my throat to tighten
And my hands grip my thighs, and my leg is bouncing so fast I could fly to the moon if I went a little faster
I’m still your little girl?
I don’t understand what’s wrong,
At thirteen years old I sit on my floor and I’m drowning in tears I never thought were there
But now I can’t breathe and the weight of the world is too much to handle so I pull out a pin and drag it across my light feathery skin
I’m still your little girl?
I’m fifteen years old and now I hold the bottle so tight
it’s become a part of my hand and no matter how hard I try to let go
it consumes me, the thought of having one more sip envelopes my whole body and the word binge replays on my mind like a record, broken, I didn’t even know I owned
I’m fifteen, my heart is broken and so is my soul, feelings chained to a wall I was trained to build, and once again the bottle appears and this time I forget, I forget the pain, and the next day and the one after that, well, I don’t remember.
Am I still your little girl?

The author's comments:

The piece I have written is inspired by some events of my life but some based on fiction.  I suffer from depression and am now medicate dbut I suffered a lot of these feelings before hand.

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