Pretty

t.o. crow

They never called her pretty so how was she to know?
They teased her as a "fatty." She couldn't fit small clothes.

She could wrestle with the best of boys and pin them to the ground
until her "nubs" began to sprout when 'tween time rolled around.
There was always something wrong with her - nothing ever right -
The only comfort that she found was on her blue, Schwinn bike.
There, she channeled big, tough "Jim" who followed every dream.
She could fly a plane or fight in war or any skill you named.

She was strong and kind and loving but that seemed to matter not
for they focused on her "tummy" her other traits forgotten.
Each day she waked she had to face her Mama's consternation
and Granny often chimed right in comparing her to cousins:
"So tiny, feminine - petite," she said. Their clothes are not size dozen!"

So, what was she to do but slouch? To stoop her shoulders low?
And from that purchase see the world and not be noticed so.
Her vanishing tactics failed to work, added misery to her pain.
She ate cake each day to compensate and lost more self esteem.
More scorn for that she did attract, which hurt her deeper still,
and the girl who once was pretty inside herself withdrew.

She gave up trying to please them all and into depression sank.
No one noticed the sponge she'd become or the negative she drank.
They never acknowledged her intrinsic worth so she internalized
all the "bad" they labeled her with and carried it through her life.

That little girl that I once knew so very long ago
was really very pretty but how was she to know?


Feb. 05/2008