2 I am fresh, for her attention I yearn A mother that’s sharp My heart starts to feel the burn Of outstretched hands, cold and untouched Nurture washed out by drugs, affection that’s rushed

I get small tastes of kindness A smile, a kiss Though I do not know her love It’s still something I miss

5 And alone The picture I draw is called ‘home’ She won’t put it on the fridge So in the bin it goes I have learnt that silence Is rewarded with her hug goodnight So I hold my breath when she passes, and pray she holds me tonight Maybe if I cry she’ll feel bad I’m upset I wake up tired and alone on a pillow that’s wet

I get small tastes of kindness A laugh, a hug Though it seems forced and fake It still gives my heart a tug

7 And smarter I’ve learned mummy is like me Chasing after someone who doesn’t want her Changing to make him happy She gets small tastes of kindness His time and his money The words that sting like acid are coated in honey Why can’t she see he doesn’t love her? Can’t she tell from how he holds her? But I am glad that he hurt her Because she cries on my shoulder

I get small tastes of kindness More hugs as it gets colder I can’t help but hope she’ll love me more when I’m older

12 And in high school, I read her my grades out loud I cross my fingers and look up, hoping she’ll be proud But she’s staring out the window Her eyes are clouded over I run up to my room I pray that mummy gets sober Why doesn’t she listen? Why doesn’t she care? My friend’s mothers hold them Everything seems so unfair I’ve started to wonder Is it even worth it to try? But she doesn’t even talk to me So I keep wondering why

My small tastes of kindness Are getting smaller and smaller If ‘mother’ means love Is ‘mother’ something I should call her?

16 My bags are packed, but still feel empty The whole house is quiet, the silence still tempts me I know silence is rewarded with the hope of her touch Since being 5, I’ve learnt it shouldn’t mean that much When it comes from someone who barely keeps you alive Her small tastes of kindness are no longer enough to survive I deserved to be loved And that’s not the way things were So I’m going to find love In a world without her As I walk out the door, I sense her breath on my shoulder I know she is sad but I resist the urge to hold her

Kindness and love is something a mother should teach But from a little girl her love has always been just out of reach As I walk out the door I feel something set free It’s that 2 year old girl, she’s coming with me

A box in an attic, sat all alone Calling the dust bunnies that surrounded it home. It waited in patience, sitting humbly And suddenly children ran up in glee They clambered up the staircase, tripping as they would, Till they reached a corner of the attic where the little box stood.

Sparkles and glitter glistened quite bright And the children’s eyes, widened at the sight. For they were amazed, for they understood If they had not found it, then who else would?

So they glanced at each other, and fought for a look, At the wonderful form, the magic had took When they opened the flaps They were excited to see A sweet little charm, containing a tree.

The girl that was closest shoved her one sister Brooke Out of the way and slipped the charm on a hook. The hook of a necklace, the charm long gone , And when the glass touched her skin her head filled with song.

The song spoke of demons, beasties and more, But the brave little girl wasn’t afraid anymore As the song spun in her mind, it got louder and louder Filling this girl, with the feeling of power

The light in the attic disappeared with a pop And the child started to float, as Brooke watched in shock Her sister could fly, her sister flew high Wondering whether or not to wave her sister goodbye

Would she fly through the night looking down on their house? Or would she share this power With her only sister Who couldn’t hurt a mouse?

And a question stuck her, as she hit the roof made of wood...

Would she use her powers, for bad or for good?

..and just like that she could see everything through fresh eyes. Crystal blue eyes. The ones you stare into as though mesmerised. You see beauty, or you see deception. My crystal eyes never blink. Never move. Neither does the rest of me. I gather dust on a shelf, scaring the life out children, my limbs growing stiff. They say I’m scary. The children. The adults say I’m just a doll. That I won’t hurt you. But how would they know? They’ll never know what it’s like to be the girl in the window. The girl that saw everything. Every day I would sit, watching as little girls ran along the pavement trying to soak their boots in puddles. I would watch. I would wait. I would see. But it was always the same. The little boys would stare at me, putting their fingers in their mouths to pull faces. The girls would either scream or watch in fascination as my eyes stayed still. Unblinking. They would smile. It warmed me. Made me feel as though someone understood. But then they would leave. Run. Run away and never return. They always do. Lola was the one child who didn’t run. She would enter the shop, eyes aglow and she would talk. Not to her mum, not the shop keeper. To me. She would ask me questions, where I came from, what my name was, whether I liked to dance. Seeing her walk down the lane filled me with hope. Once the man on the counter allowed her to play with me behind the desk. Her hands were so warm, like the feeling you get when hot chocolate goes down your throat. Lola would always be careful with me, picking up my curls, toying with the frills of my dress or holding my hand. She never tired of my blank replies to her questions. She would nod quietly. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. But all good things come and go. One day she walked through the door, her freckled nose bright red. Her coughs we’re chilling. She would cough and cough when she came in. Her mother whispered something to the man on the counter and he sighed sadly and put me in a little box. But Lola yelled out. She said I didn’t deserve to be imprisoned in the crate.She held me close but her hands were cold. That day I was taken home. To a new house. For a new life. Lola settled me in her bed in the day and rocked me in her arms at night. But it was sad. When she came home she would collapse, coughing hard, crying. Eventually she would not leave. She stayed in bed, me in her clutch, coughing as though she could never stop. One night it all changed. Lola no longer choked on air, but on blood. It coated her nightgown and my petticoat. Her mother rushed in and fed her some medicine but it didn’t help. Lola coughed so hard that she choked. Her noises sent shiver down my spine. If I had one. She cried out for me, went to hug me close. But she didn’t make it. Her hand fell down onto the pillow. Cold. She didn’t choke, she didn’t cough, she didn’t move. Neither did I. Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t reach out and save her and I couldn’t yell for help. But I saw it all. I watched as her eyes closed and I watched as she choked on nothingness. I watched and I watched and I watched. I saw it all through crystal blue eyes. The ones you stare into. Mesmerised.