This Little Piggy

I can’t feel my toes,

She said only yesterday.


Well then, how do

You know they are

Really there?

I replied.


Because you had me

Wiggle them once,

When I stubbed the

Small toe on a dresser,

And we used to play

“This little piggy.”


That was a long time ago.

How do you know they

Are still there today?


I can see them.

They are right there,

She said, pointing as

She did.


You cannot believe

Everything you see,

My dear. The eyes

Have ways of playing

Trick on us, you know.


How you know they

Are they are really there,

When you cannot believe

What you see, and you

Cannot feel them?


How do you really know

You have toes? I asked

With a grin.



Because, she began,

Whether I can see them

Touch or feel them,

Feel or not the chill

And winter’s bite,

Or the thrill of woolen socks,

I love my toes,

And they will always

Be with me.


About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
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2 Responses to This Little Piggy

  1. Aha… a little allegory perhaps 🙂

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