Time is not linear,
so as I sit and write this poem,
I’m being born
and I’m dying.
I’m suffering and I’m crying.
As the old me doubles over
wailing so hard I can’t breathe,
I’m also a child experiencing
the things I’m crying for.
I was so alone then.
People made fun of me.
They ridiculed me, A CHILD,
for being obese and dirty,
without ever once asking WHY
I was that way.
My therapist would say
that thats just the way things were then,
dismissing my pain as if to say
get over it already.
So as I suffered alone,
so do I alone heal, save the help
of people online that I’ve never met,
which speaks to just how fucking strong I am,
and how determined,
to do what I can for that little kid
that no one gave a fuck about.
If I could reach across the multiverse,
I would hold you in my arms
and tell you that
to the extent I’m able, I love you, kid.
You, dear child, inspire me.
Like this:
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Dogpaddling Through Life 
That speaks to me. I’d like to help my younger self. I don’t know where I found the resilience to survive. It’s tough being a child alone, with no one to turn to.
You are strong and you are healing.
And so are you. I’m glad we connected here.
Me too! 🙂