my seven year old self
as she walked the asphalt playground
singing a song to herself
to provide a good story
for why she walked alone,
never dreaming
what lines she had crossed
in the effort to excel
at a game with broken rules,
how her own scoffing at others
was what condemned her to her solitary lot
In comforting myself
I wish to comfort
every lonely one
(in their past or in their present)
who was skewered by the twisted rules,
tricked into condemning,
then finding themselves caught
on one side of the story or the other
I wish to tell us all
the game and all its rules are over -
all ye all ye in free -
come on home!
©Wendy Mulhern
March 22, 2021
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