I Cry

I cry.

I am hurting deep inside.

People have no souls. 

The hurtful words and slandering tongues slice wounds in my heart.

They, at least, are better than the hurt at home.

The physical hurt.

The hand slapping across my face.

The cane cracking across my back. 

The angry words pounded in my ears.

The reek of alcohol, blown into my face as the abuse begins again.

I cry.

I am bruised and bleeding, but I must go to school.

They make fun of me, time after time.

Hurtful words.

Haughty glances.

Snickers behind my back as I walk through the hall.

I would take this for the rest of my life over what happens after the bell rings.

After I walk down our street.

After I open the front door upon my own personal hell. 

Today was worse.

He had a knife.

He rampaged and fought for what seemed like eternity.

But then my fate became sealed.

He grabbed the knife and slit my throat. 

He left me to die. 

No fatherly love.

No “I’m so sorry.”

No remorse at all. 

He just left me to die.

And die, I did.