Like A Little Girl

Like a little girl
I curl up in a ball
    and wait for your arms to carry me
        from the debris that the world is
        to its cloud-filled room of promises.

Like a little girl
I roll under the covers
    and wait for the voice to tell me
        it’s alright to spill the paint sometimes,
        or that things always aren’t pretty.

Like a little girl
I close my eyes shut against the pillows
    and wait for the hands to wipe them dry
        and hide me from the glare
        that hurts me in the eyes.

Like a little girl
I set my foot in front of the other
    and walk the earth in awe and wonder,
        and come home, tired and alone
        to the warm embrace of my walls and posters.

        Because unlike a little girl,
            there isn’t an arm but mine to hold me up,
            no hands but mine to push me on;
            just paint on the walls slowly chipping away,
            just plain old walls rotting away.

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