Julie was a Scouse Cinderella

Brought up by hard women and their opinions

Crawling through a tunnel of aunties 

Who loved to put the boot in to pretty things

Because they could never be pretty too

A sensitive soul, ever so beautiful

Fallen to the bottom of a matriarchy

Of quick wits and sharp tongues

Self esteem raped by their judgements

At drunken family parties

That she was too scared to run away from

Nowhere to run to, you see

It’s hard to grow buttercups in a boxing ring

Found sanctuary in imagination and woodlands

As she made dens, daisy chains and wishes

Sought escape in old books and author’s dreams

What else can a young girl do

Smelt hate and whiskey on their breath

Felt her self esteem shrink with each insult

Heard the drunken whispers but pretended not to

She

Held her pain and stayed gentle,

Like a feather on a fire refusing to be consumed

Held her tongue and stayed gentle,

Like cream refusing to mix with the black of coffee

Held her tears and stayed gentle,

 Like Jesus defying the Devil in the desert

Her tears where the one thing she’d not like them to steal

(Too much of)

As a young woman Julie knew that

It is hard to grow buttercups in a boxing ring

So she thanked her aunties

For teaching her of how to grow her buttercups

With love.

 

Ged Thompson