Late at night,
Sitting up in bed,
A little girl holds her head.
Mutely weeping,
She clasps her ears;
Wondering why God
Won't make her disappear.
The volume increases,
She hears the screams;
The abusive words
Now occupy her dreams.
As a teen,
Pretty and serine,
The tears that never subside,
But are now locked up inside.
She hears the knock
and unlocks the window,
He calls her names,
Claims that she's insane.
He holds her heart,
The putty in his hand,
Manipulates it in ways,
So she can't understand.
It's just fine
That he doesn't treat her right
Because he keeps her company
On the lonely nights.
As an adult, she attempts to lock the door,
Bracing her body for what
She knows is in store.
The anticipation is often worse than
The hit.
And she wonders why the shoe
Never seems to fit.
Bruises on her body,
The hole in her heart,
The chaos in her head;
Makes her wish she was dead.
She sits up in bed,
Her pleas unheard,
Her breathing ceases,
The vanishing word.
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