More poetry

 Girl (remastered) 

I saw her sitting there, 
a younger, smaller version of me, 
at 9 years old, sitting on my childhood bed. 
I slowly walked to her and knelt. 
I took her hands in mine. 
she looked up at me  
and with a small voice asked, 
"does it get any better?" 
I squeezed her hands. 
"not for a long time. it doesn't get better 
for a long time."
she closed her eyes and tears 
streamed down her face. 
I let go of her hands 
and placed mine around her small face. 
"does anyone end up saving us?" she softly asked. 
I smiled. 
"yes." I said. 
she then looked at me, hopeful.
"who saves us?" she asked.  
I smiled even bigger. 
"we do. we save ourselves." 

Jessica Jocelyn