It doesn't get easier, doll

The first time is always the hardest.  Things get easier with repetition.

Lies.  Years later, places and people later, change after changer after change.  It doesn't get easier.

Moving.
Location.
Upheaval.

New places, new faces, new ideas, new traditions, new words.  Things 'everyone knows about' that not everyone knows about, only the people who lived in that are for so long.  But if you have never moved, that small area is your world, your everyone.  Who else matters?

~

"I'm new here."

5 years old, brown hair, nearly black (the colour would be called bay if she were a horse) wavy, long.  Long face, narrow, yet puffy cheeks, still a child, only 5.  Red dress, black plaid, lots of buttons, black shoes, white stockings; a sad brown haired doll.  Eyes down, feet shuffle, what to do, what else to say.

"We don't need new kids."  The only reply, from a girl with nut brown skin, dark short hair; it shows her ears.  She has an ear piercing; she's 7 years old.  She wears a shirt with a unicorn on it; less classy, acts superior.

"Oh."  Eyes down, wringing her hands, she feels disappointed.  Lonely.

Second school, fourth house.  Move too much.

The kids ignore her for three days.

~

Nearly summer, lots of grass, bright colours.  

Same doll, 6 years old, blue dress, white buttons, same shoes, worn thin -
"But they're my favourites, I don't want a new pair!"

Standing in the front of the class room, new student.  26 sets of eyes stare back; who cares, no one, isn't it almost recess, I'm hungry.

Sits in the desk, new people, scared, not sure what to say, so says nothing.

The slap, followed by the theft of her lego candy at recess comes as a shock.

~

Same school, same kid, different house.  12 years old.

One friend, wants to die.  She does too.

First cut in the pale shoulder; red blood, one drop, flows down the curve of her arm, like dew running off an early morning flower.

Pain is a relief; been numb for the past year.

I can still feel something.

No voice, no will, take the abuse, the words.  It's all a blur; wind blows, sit in the same spot, read - escape, draw scenes of blood and release.

~

One cut at a time
In this pale skin of mine
Leave me be,
Let me wake
Do I have a soul to take?

~

New school, 7th house, same kid, too old and tall to be a doll anymore.  The doll's curls are in a braid now, bound down and hidden.  Can't be pretty, not pretty.  Pale bangs, pale as her porcelain face, hide the scars, hide the feelings.

Dressed to intimidate; not going to be the one on the receiving end.  Black netting, spike bracelets, jeans with straps.  Can't see the scars through the netting.  Good.  Secret is safe.

At school before everyone else.  Take a seat in the back.  Good, it's near the door.  Faster way out.

Students enter, shock registers; remember your manners, don't judge before you know.  Cordial greetings and genuine welcomes, they want to be friends.

Confusion - dressed to hide, she was seen by everyone.  

What do they want from me?

Unlucky age 13.

~

She walked in the room; pretty girl, sad eyes.

Don't talk to her.

But I met her already, she's my friend.

You'll learn.  She's a slut.

I don't believe you.

I was right, they were wrong

~

End of winter, art class.  

She's in the back, doing what the doll once did.

The doll's scars are gone, she can show her shoulder and upper arms and no one has to know.  Her eyes are sad; everyone is so broken.  Mend what you can.

~

New school, new house, friend is also in a new school and a new house.  Far away but we can walk.

People talk, laugh.  The once-doll laughs too.  She replies.  Confusion is gone.

MaybeItoocanloveandbeloved.  

Odd thought.

~

Different schools and different ends of town divide them.

They're dating now, the healed doll and her mending friend.  

Kindness kept them close; love grew.

Misunderstanding -
"You only do it to get guys' attention!"
"I like guys only as friends, they aren't attractive to me." Simple shrug.

With the mending girl, things are similar-
"I'm better for you than any girl."
"I can make my own choices; she taught me that."

~

Haven't moved in 4 years; doll house runs it's own way.  Things change, but location is the same for now.  Same house, same cat, same dog, same family; they've all learned about the scars.  They don't talk about them.

Mended girl, pretty girl, she keeps moving.
Moving.
Changing.
New location.
Upheaval.
What can I say?

The cursor on the screen blinks -
I cant reply, I won't lie, it's not easy but we'll make it through.  I'm here, we're fixed, life moves on, we move too, but...

No words, loss of speech.

Invisible scars flash with pain again.

It doesn't get easier no matter how many times it happens.

18 - no more to write, the time is now and now is the end.  Cannot write about what is yet to happen.

~

Lovely change,
last dance
Eyes open,
Skin closed.
Bridge the distance.