Defective Child shackled to the dungeon wall
Convinced she belonged in this dark ugly place
Had she dared to look at the "proof" of her fall
The ugliness of her soul reflected in the face.
No life, no love, no hope......this child remained hidden.
Believed alone, noticed but unnoticed by those others inside
Rejected and alone, unworthy and unforgiven,
Broken and unfixable, she could only be despised.
Yet her feelings, her fears permeated the system.
All protecting, all believing....... all everything related to her.
Formed early for the sole purpose of internal mayhem
Guaranteed silence, stifled reason, broken soul forever.
That dark ugliness at the core, believed to be always,
Kept everything under the thumb of oppression.
There was no hope as long as her secret was hidden
Yet, the belief was about fault, hers the lesson.
When the system began to challenge the beliefs
Maybe, just maybe, the child was not defective after all.
That particular child still saw no light, she heard no relief
Too broken and torn to see anything but her fall.
As each layer was peeled, her presence remained hidden
The only clue, pain so intense it couldn't be tolerated.
The secret, Never! Death was better than being unforgiven.
The answer wouldn't come easy, healing was over rated.
The Defective Child couldn't feel damaged or wounded
She knew better than anyone why she was so scorned.
If she remained invisible, living death, or life hounded
By the image of the devil......he understood those thorns.
Risking the light of day...... nothing but a booby trap
To be detonated in alone time where pain would break forth
Stored up for decades, Uncontrolled filthy heinous crap
Suffocated this Defective Child with what she stood for.
Pain so intense the entire system couldn't withstand it.
Walls tumbling out of control, safeguards totally destroyed
Still, in all the chaos, no one knew this one Defective Child existed.
The secret so carefully hidden, the child the devil employed.
Was that why she was defective instead of wounded?
Was she of the devil....... or did the devil do it............Was this the key?
No one knew...........NO ONE KNEW.....even though the pain resounded?
Not one single part had even a hint of this child or her story.
The only clue that deep deep emptiness, that black hole
That wouldn't be filled, and an echoing silence that deafened
Death resonated more loudly than any secret could hold
This Defective Child trapped in an isolation and deception.
She knew, she knew it all........but she wouldn't tell, never tell
Too ashamed, too horrified, too defective to a fault and more
This child swallowed up in her pain couldn't, wouldn't speak to tell
Lost in the blackness of depression taking all in the system. For......
That was the plan! Yes! That was the plan after all!
Pain so intense, better death that feeling anymore pain
And Defective Child so laden with pain because of her fall
No one, nothing, not even God could make her whole again!
Yes, that was the plan! That was the purpose of her creation!
Relying on her innocence, her genuine heart. The trick
Had been easily played all those years before. Her isolation
Guaranteed the belief that even God would see her as sick.
This Defective Child was caught not knowing she was wounded
Not believing there was any hope. Did it matter what her fall was?
Only to her. It was the enormity of her feelings that sounded
Throughout the system taking us down with a vengeful rush!
One shred of sanity managed to hold off the out of control spin
Putting a plan in place to open the ulcerating sore, confront this evil.
Facing our darkest fears easier than letting the ugliness win
Not knowing what to expect but sure, so sure it must be the devil.....
No matter what the secret! Despite the seemingly insurmountable pain
The belief of one, just one, in the process and that Defective Child saved
The day, the rest of the system. Cornered her in a way alone, dark again,
Yet protected. Feeling unsafe but safe......Blocking the devil's road paved.
Defective Child so set up didn't know she wasn't living her legacy
But still didn't speak. Exposed only mere thought. The artist easily shared
Gave away the secret. Exposed the trick. Disarmed the suicidal tendency.
This Defective Child wasn't really defective......Wounded beyond compare.
As I prepared the post about this Defective Child, I was again reminded of the importance of role of this part in my entrapment and in my healing. I guess it was in thinking about that the urge to write this poem emerged. So while the things described here happened many many years ago, the telling in poetic form was begun a couple days ago and finished today. I'm sure this is not the last "new" material I will write about this child.