Thursday, 13 February 2014

Bullied at five.

Oh little girl of mine, stood tall.
So chipper and so cheery.
Where are you? And who is this?
My shadow, always teary.

You used to stop and talk to all, 
Your confidence unending.
But recently, that child has gone.
Missing. Sent. Pending.

For Esme you've been away, 
Absent for awhile.
Your chatty self no longer, 
A stranger to a smile.

Instead small shoulders weighed you down.
A foreboding sense would reign.
We'd walk to school, and you would ask,
"Remind me why I go again?"

Then at the gate and quivering. 
And full of sad surprise:
"It's happening all over; 
I've got tears in my eyes."

And I would cajole and quip and cuddle.
Then sternly send you in.
And walk away with my head bowed,
To keep my tears within.

And unbeknown to me, little you,
Having taken a deep breath,
Would hang your bag and coat inside.
And after, hang your head.

The day the headmistress found you.
Crying still, quite haunted.
She talked with you, and you let go.
The name calling, the taunted. 

So then I found out where you'd gone,
Or rather why you'd gone there.
Because of three big bully boys,
Who confused you to despair.

Who made you wonder what you'd done.
Made you question every day.
Who sent you somewhere lonely.
And who stole my girl away.