Abuse

 A man walks through door,

Grabs a drink.

Drunk, and drinking more.

 

The man joins us at the table,

But just before he takes his seat,

He hits my mama.

She curls over in defeat.

 

We eat silently,

Clean up the same way.

 

Later that night, I lie in my bed.

A man storms in, kisses me violently.

As he rips off my clothes,

I try to think I’m glad it’s me he chose.

That I'm glad it's me and not her.

 

Beaten.

Broken.

Damned.

 

I reach under my bed,

Grab the knife that rests there,

Stab the man until he’s dead.

 

Standing up,

Looking down

At the man I killed.

 

The man who abused me.

The man who hit my mama.

The man who used to be my daddy.

Reviews

[M. Amphet Salt]

This is as well is a good piece of personal expression. I love the way you express this bitterness through out for what is going on. I really like your first stanza. It has a good metre and foot to it. You do a good job for your age writing from your heart and personal experience.

[Save the Trees, Save th..]

wow this is soo sad.....i really like it

[Orlando Murcia]

Wow I really enjoyed this poem a lot, and your only fourteen! Wow again sweetheart keep it up I love what I hear so far

[The Philosopher's Noteb..]

Is it based on your life story?