I cry for that little girl,
who was told to just smile.
because being sad will make it worse, they said,
because you would make him happy, they explained.
And, she did what she was asked.
she laughed,
I got a scraped knee. It hurts.
and cheered you up.
I'm scared. I miss Mama. I want to go home.
she smiled, her little hands steadying the tray holding your untouched dinner.
when will you get better?
You never did. You, too, left her.
Now that I know more. I cry for her,
for the child who imagines a desert when she really wanted rain.
I kept her sane.
I write for her.
I will always be here.
Her minstrel,
until she learns how to feel again.