When I look back at all those hurtful times,
all the pain and sorrow and dark cold rhymes,
I think to myself about how it use to be,
everyday I think about it and this is what I see
my dad came in and I said daddy please don't
I remember when I was little and I asked him, but he said he wont.
he wont hit me he wont yell, he wont tell me I will go to hell.
when he came up I put up my arm, because I knew he meant to do harm,
but there was nothing I could do, there was no alarm.
the first time he hit me I fell to the floor I didn't want to be his daughter anymore. I crawled to the corner screaming and bawling,
"mama please help me" but she ignored my calling.
he hit me with closed fist square in the face,
I didn't deserve it, not in this case.
all I did was say
"send me away, I know you do not want me to stay,
just get rid of me I know are. sick of my being,
why do you want me here? we are always disagreeing."
but that's not all that bad just for a child of only 12 years old ,
and for all the mental abuse and stress for me to hold what was I to do but just go on with the day.
I went to school and cried down the hall towards the counselors office all the way.
the next day he was gone but the worst wasn't over yet.
she yelled at me still trembling in fear I had my mind set. she left for work I cried and cried and I felt as if I could have died. I grabbed the blade and ran to the living room,
silence filled the air along with darkness and gloom.
with that blade I made my fist cut and everyday I look at the scar and feel the pain in my gut. those two days are the days I remember the most clear. right now I am wiping all these tears because so much pain weighs down on my shoulders and it feels as if it's a dark rigged boulder.
