by ALISON NAPPI
To the child who couldn’t understand
why nobody could understand.
To the one whose hand was never taken,
whose eyes were never gazed into by
an adult who said,
“I love you.
You are a miracle.
You are holy,
right now and forever.”
To the one who grew up in the realm of “can’t.”
To you who lived “never enough.”
To the one who came home to no one there, and
there but not home.
To the one who could never understand why
she was being hit
by hands, words, ignorance.
To the one whose innocence was
unceremoniously stolen.
To the one who fought back.
To the one who shattered.
To the never not broken one.
To the child who survived.
To the one who was told she was
sinful, bad, ugly.
To the one who didn’t fit.
To she who bucked authority
and challenged the status quo.
To the one who called out
the big people for
lying, hiding and cruelty.
To the one who never stopped loving anyway.
To the child that was forbidden to need.
To the ones whose dreams were crushed
by adults whose dreams were crushed.
To the one whose only friend
was the bursting, budding forest.
To the ones who prayed to the moon,
who sang to the stars
in the secrecy of the night
to keep the darkness at bay.
To the child who saw God
in the bursting sunshine of
dandelion heads
and the whispering
clover leaf.
To the child of light who cannot die,
even when she’s choking
in seven seas of darkness.
To the one love
I am and you are.
You are holy.
I love you.
You are a miracle.
Your life,
your feelings,
your hopes and dreams–
they matter.
Somebody failed you but you will not fail.
Somebody looked in your eyes and saw the sun — blazing — and got scared.
Somebody broke your heart but your love remains perfect.
Somebody lost their dreams and thought you should too,
but you mustn’t.
Somebody told you
that you weren’t
enough
or too much,
but you are
without question
the most perfect
and holy creation of
God’s
own
hands.
why nobody could understand.
To the one whose hand was never taken,
whose eyes were never gazed into by
an adult who said,
“I love you.
You are a miracle.
You are holy,
right now and forever.”
To the one who grew up in the realm of “can’t.”
To you who lived “never enough.”
To the one who came home to no one there, and
there but not home.
To the one who could never understand why
she was being hit
by hands, words, ignorance.
To the one whose innocence was
unceremoniously stolen.
To the one who fought back.
To the one who shattered.
To the never not broken one.
To the child who survived.
To the one who was told she was
sinful, bad, ugly.
To the one who didn’t fit.
To she who bucked authority
and challenged the status quo.
To the one who called out
the big people for
lying, hiding and cruelty.
To the one who never stopped loving anyway.
To the child that was forbidden to need.
To the ones whose dreams were crushed
by adults whose dreams were crushed.
To the one whose only friend
was the bursting, budding forest.
To the ones who prayed to the moon,
who sang to the stars
in the secrecy of the night
to keep the darkness at bay.
To the child who saw God
in the bursting sunshine of
dandelion heads
and the whispering
clover leaf.
To the child of light who cannot die,
even when she’s choking
in seven seas of darkness.
To the one love
I am and you are.
You are holy.
I love you.
You are a miracle.
Your life,
your feelings,
your hopes and dreams–
they matter.
Somebody failed you but you will not fail.
Somebody looked in your eyes and saw the sun — blazing — and got scared.
Somebody broke your heart but your love remains perfect.
Somebody lost their dreams and thought you should too,
but you mustn’t.
Somebody told you
that you weren’t
enough
or too much,
but you are
without question
the most perfect
and holy creation of
God’s
own
hands.
By Alison Nappi
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