A Poem By Six Year Old Me

Here’s something a little different,

last night I went through a box of old photographs, letters, and scraps that my mom collected from the 90’s. There were gooey love letters from my dad, a note from his mother thanking my mother for putting up with her son, and whole bunch of poems and stories that I wrote when I was little.  One really got my attention, so I nabbed a quick picture of it:


He comes
in the dark
of the night . . . .
for you . . . . .
The bear
sits on a chair
in a room . . . . .
you’ll die on the
way in and
never come
out . . . . chose
wise die or live . . . . .
DIE . . . . . you slowly
die in the last
days . . . . .


I doubt that I was any older than 6 or 7 when I wrote this, and I don’t know what’s more disturbing: the actual “poem”, or the princess frog shaped notebook paper that it was written on (or that I even owned a princess frog shape notebook).

I’ve been a fan of horror for a long time — of course, it was much more tame when I was little, since my experience was limited to ghost stories during sleepovers and the brief clips I saw of Poltergeist while I was hiding my parent’s bedroom after Thanksgiving dinner in 1998. Otherwise, I swear I had a normal childhood.



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Indigo is a writer living out of Seattle. She plays a lot of video games.

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