Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Tag Archives: Growing Up Wounded

XXOO?

A girl’s first kiss should be
like baby’s breath,
not taken in the dead of
night by theft.

Her youth was stolen by
an old man’s greed.
She grew up certain that
to live is to bleed.

An angry woman from a
heartsick girl:
Her song is echoed
all over the world.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil (who looked a lot like the little girl on the left in the picture)

For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “X.” In this case, the saddest kiss of all was my first.  Also at my poetic safe room, Poets United.

PLEASE NOTE: To women, men, boys, girls: If this poem rings true for you, seek help, get counseling. If reading this hurts you in a vague, awful way and makes you want to drink or do drugs or seek other solace that’s unhealthy, try therapy – it’s worth the price to get your life back. Peace, Amy