Splintered

WORDS BY KELLI LYNN MOORE / @KELLILYNNMOORE

Foreword: 
I've lived a life that has forced me to mature very quickly, mainly due to things I've experienced with my mother. She recently passed away in December 2014, and I haven't yet gotten to express my feelings through words. My mother was not perfect, and she dealt with a lot of hardships, but I loved her (and of course still love her) more than words can describe. 
This poem is by no means bashing my mother and her choices; it is just a way for me to release the emotions I've felt about said choices. It also just kind of delves into my life in general.

Image by Asam Bajwa

I'm sitting on my bed 
At seventeen
With the late summer,
Seventy-six-degrees breeze cascading
Through my window.
It's mid-morning,
Almost early afternoon,
And I can't help
But to reminisce.

To when I was six,
Looking out the same window,
Veiled with ivory gossamer curtains,
Daydreaming of green fields
That went on for miles.
The kind where the grass couldn't
Help but to leave its fingerprints
All over your fresh white
Summer dress.
Above a home
That at the time,
Was not yet broken.

To when I was nine,

Sitting atop trees
Accessorized with crunchy leaves
That would sway and fall
Every time
The crisp autumn wind
Placed kisses on 
Their amber cheeks.
Trying to skip around
The juicy, fruitful blackberries
That had just fallen
From the summer days before.
On the path back towards
A home 
That at the time,
I didn't know was cracked.

To when I was thirteen,
Tiptoeing into my
Tender, impressionable
Adolescent years.
Falling "in love" with boys
Who would treat me just like 
Their laborious algebra homework.
Crumbling me up,
Tossing me aside,
Grabbing a new one
When I became difficult.
Watching her take herself away 
With her careless,
Sagittarius- driven behavior,
Down into a 
Dark, spiraling hole
Of suppression,
Repression,
and Depression,
That none of us knew if she
Would ever climb out of.
Climbing back into a home
That at the time, 
Both her and I could 
Visibly see
Was split in two.

To when I was sixteen,
Truly and blissfully 
Falling in love with a boy
Who truly and blissfully
Fell in love with me.
Devoting all our time
To one another,
Writing, talking, singing, painting,
Only to have that quelled,
Twice,
By a simple 
"I can't handle this anymore."
Those icy blue eyes of lies
Following me with every
Move I make to this day.
Waking up,
To the morning following
Christmas Day,
To gear police and ambulance
Sirens
Echo down my street
And throughout my home,
Filling my head with
The premonitions
I never thought would come.
Quivering at the fact
That at the time,
And from then on,
The home I've always known
Will only be half of what
It's been for sixteen years.

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