Little Blue Girl
By: Bibi Anne Hazel
Tags: Poetry, Blues, Childhood Trauma, Dark, PTSD

The things I never told you.

The things I never showed you.

Let me take you on a tour.

A painted little house of horror.

Each night when I go to sleep,

I know there’s to be one more visit.

To where I lost something deep.

I’m here for the girl that wants to leave,

For the little dove that just wants to breathe,

But shhh, we can’t make any sound.

They’ll hear and they’ll hold me down,

And the bitch will be there to begin,

To paint me blue and nail me in,

And rip me apart bone from skin.

Through every room and every hall,

My lonely is painted on the walls.

Those walls, see, they know it all.

Once sun is down and light is dim,

They know I’ll always come back to them.

Here, I don’t have to pretend.

I’m hostage to these blue walls within.

If you’re quiet enough, you can hear,

The sounds of it all collapsing in.

Listen for the cries, smell for the fear,

Don’t touch all the blue walls, dear.

The paint, it stains me everywhere.

See, I find the spots after I’ve been,

This one from age five, this from age ten.

Maybe she is under the blue carpet where,

There, where my mascara is smeared,

I can still see each one of my tears,

Tears from the girl from all the years.

They run down the hall to every room.

Maybe they drowned the girl back then,

Before she even knew how to swim.

I’m so very exhausted to my bone.

I try to get my mother on the phone.

My shaking fingers don’t always allow.

Mom, please come take her away!

Before all of the blue begins to replay.

But I always stay and I always pay,

And I never find what I came to take away.

At times, the little girl comes out to see,

If this is the time I’ll rescue me.

But those tiny hands, I never reach,

Before the bitch starts to teach,

And they all come and drag her down,

Fingernail scrapes the only sound,

Back in the box goes the little doll,

Out of sight to seek another night.

Maybe just a little rest before I run.

Just lay your head on your pillow hun.

But wait, don’t go to sleep just yet,

Let me show you things so good,

Your mind will never let you forget.

But I said I didn’t want to again.

Then the colors start to spin.

Will someone please tell me how,

As soon as the the sun sets,

I wake up in that blue house still now?

Each time I fight a demon or two,

And blend their red with the blue.

I never seem to remember it all,

Just her down the hall between the walls.

The things that old blue house stole,

Just swallowed that little girl whole,

While I watch, a detached soul.

Those cold, painted blue halls and walls,

Closed right in on that little doll.

An unfair grave to lay to waste,

A girl not yet meant to touch and taste.

And I think I’ll be forever free,

If you tell me before she begins to freeze,

Under the shame and blue debris.

Where is she hidden away,

So with her my spirit can lay?

I just want my body back.

I really, really don’t want to stay!

My body, trapped under filth and shame,

And all that fear and delusional blame.

If I could just move the walls and unbury,

Give water to the little girl from before,

Tell her she’s not some sinful whore.

The darkness is not hers to carry.

Tell her to fly away, the little canary.

I always come back to try to find her,

I scribble on the walls, I write her pain,

And mark out all of your critical names.

The ones I carry with guilt and shame.

Flickering lights from dark to dim,

Reveal all of the black and blue sin,

How I long to just find her again.

Each night that I revisit that house

To find her and together burn it down,

I take a piece of it with me instead,

To inspire the girl to sing her song.

She was hiding in me all along,

Waiting to connect, spirit to skin to bone,

Until I wake up and I feel at home.

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