THIS LIBRA MALE CHILD

He said it right
He said it true
I believed cos there was no lie
And I had no reason to doubt.
Still fearful, I opened the door and took a step, reaching out to reach his outstretched hands...


It was a race
It was a contest
Against time
Against contenders
Assurance was all the confidence I needed and careful she walked...
Slow and steady,  she walked,
Picking the stones and thorns that threatened to open up the skin beneath her feet and his.
Her hands in his she let him lead.


She missed a thorn and it tore his feet,
He winced in pain and let go of her hands.
She felt it like it was her feet, torn.
She knelt to pick out the thorns
She knelt to clean up the wounds
She knelt to show remorse and regret for her incompetency to do the little responsibility she had.

He kicked at her,
He walked past where she sat on her knee picked up a couple of sharp stones and thorns.
Turned back towards her,  with the stones and thorns,  he turned her body to his canvas and pricked her with each one.
He pricked and dragged and scarred with both thorns and stones.
She hurt and attempted to lie flat holding on to his feet in remorse and regret.
He worsened the intensity of his actions.
She let his foot go and covered up to protect from the thorns thrown at her.
She cuddled herself like a ball,
Defenseless,  she covered up till the stings seemed reduced.
Then she looked up and saw his back walking away.
With another hand quite feminine like hers in his as he walked off into the fog.

As she cleaned up her wounds,  tears in her eyes, heart in pieces, she wondered,  at what point did this contender join her race?