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Abuse At It's Finest

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



My mother left an actual mark on me for the very first time, since all the times she's been smacking me around, her inspiration was my sneaking out to a rock show, my inspiration is this poem.


Submitted:Jun 6, 2011    Reads: 76    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   


You sit on my soul, collapsing my airwaves, I gasp.

Mercy.

Damn you.

You're suppose to be my caretaker, my unconditional stream of flowing love.

Above.

He's watching, he sees you hurting me, fighting me, restraining me.

I scream.

What else is there to do?

You hate me and I hate you.

Bastards.

Manufacturers, that's all anyone ever really cares about.

Not daughters and mothers.

Sister and brother.

How can they view me as sane?

When you're causing me all this god damn, pain.

I want to hurt you, more than ever before.

Have you seen the sore on my brain?

It's grown and prospered.

I look in the mirror and I find it now visible on my outside core.

You boar.

Whore.

It's all a name game with you, until it gets physical, and the abuse starts with something different than just the mouth.





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