Same house, different rooms

So much in common; same mother and father;

both small in stature and full of passion.

And yet, how different we are in many ways,

with the life choices and opportunities that

came our way. The least favoured, cast out

to graze in another woman’s field-granny.


I always wondered why mum didn’t like me,

why she chastised me at every opportunity;

wishing I was a boy, and maybe then she

would look my way and smile lovingly.

Sadness engulfed the girl I was; worry

and people pleasing kept me busy.


Looking back, I see that what I lacked at

home was given by others-unconditional love.

Meanwhile, the middle child, a boy sat alone

while this mother hugged her baby in a cocoon.

No primary carer to nurse his wounds when hurt;

instead he sat alone thinking I had it all.


So how did this pan out? There’s no doubt in my mind

that the mischief he made was his way to gain the

attention of everyone. This broken child is now a man

and the child is buried deep within, still crying for love

and affirmation; look at me and pay attention! How can

he heal this little boy and fill his life with endless joy?


It’s a shame empathy can’t be bought in a bottle,

to drink like beer when you’re watching the telly.

If it was, I would buy him a pack of six to help him see

the effect his boorishness has.


Today I regressed to a teenage girl, as he called me

a name that really hurt. Does he see the damage that’s done,

when he hits out at loved ones thinking it’s fun?

So what have I learned about myself today? That child

inside me is a moment away-I need to love her with all

that I am, not be held to ransom by the abuse of man.



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