A girl's life

this poem is about me

A baby girl

Not even a month old

Born to a drunken man 

And a deadbeat mother

Laying in a hospital bed

Looking pale as a horse

No fluids in her system 

Barely any oxygen left

She was almost 

Completely lifeless

Her deadbeat mother 

Never fed her

Never held her

Not even once

Her drunken father 

Never saw her once

They just left her 

There to die 

As soon as she 

Was nursed back

To health the 

Visits started

Each visit got

Worse and worse

It was unbearable

It was too much

For this little girl

Every visit

She would be filled 

With more fear

It makes her tremble

Until one visit

That changed her 

It was a night 

Visit with her father

Her life got flipped 

Upside down after

That night visit

That night visit

That night of the abuse

Ruined her life

She can never forgive

Him for what he did 

The abuse haunts 

Her heart so much

It's a nightmare that 

Plays twenty- four hours

Seven days a week

In her mind

After that happened 

They took both of their 

Visitation rights away

When she was two years old

Soon after they 

Moved her sister

To a new home

She was devastated

She didn't want them 

to take her

Each night after that

Was the same 

Restless nights

Hours of crying

From this nightmare

The nightmare got worse

Every night revealing

More and more

Then what she already saw 

She was scared 

To know what her

Life would be like 

Because of this nightmare

Thanks to him 

She lost her innocence

From his drunken

Rage

She prayed and hoped 

For this nightmare to end

But it never did

She lost almost

All of her hope and faith 

She was starting to lose herself

As the months kept

Crawling by

Things got better

Little by little 

She was starting to 

Gain back her hope 

And faith that 

She had lost

She was starting to 

Gain herself back 

As she was gaining

Herself back, more

And more kids came 

In and out of the house

Yet she still

Wished that this 

Nightmare would end 

Forever, but it won't

Go ever away 

Author's Note

This is still a work in progress, but here is what I have so far

Reviews

[Train]

The dullness of the call to the future is always a strive as long as we hold you to pieces in that strife and honour of the climb that you so eloquently want a child to profer as clambers the rest of life with her own meat and flesh and creates a magnitude of fortune for us to strive and wonder as creation wonders about eminiscense and solidarity and benefits. SO really what do you think of war?

[tarah morris]

I don't think about war