What a little girl shouldn’t have to understand,
knowing there was no magic, no safe place, no fantasy land.
In the dark,
holding tight the doll she swore to protect.
Breaths coming too fast for little lungs,
she waited for the sounds that always came,
what was fragile breaking…
eyes wide in the dark where imagination wasn’t needed,
she stared at the door unblinking.
How long before the door burst open?
How long before she was the one breaking?
©March 2018, Christina Anne Hawthorne