Job_Well_Done

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
another poem about abuse

Submitted: February 29, 2012

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Submitted: February 29, 2012

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Blood runs down my swollen lip,

My wrist is bruised beneath his grip;

Sweat is matting down my hair,

And soon I'm just too numb to care.

 

I try in vain to stay his hands,

After every violent blow he lands;

And while the stars dance over-head,

I hope that I will end up dead.

 

He presses me hard into the floor,

And when I scream he presses more;

I try to scream but just get silence,

I wish that he would stop the violence.

 

Tears and sweat and blood combine,

And blackened eyes begin to shine;

He smiles at his job well done,

And throws another punch for fun.

 

He says it's just to make me tough,

But I say I've really had enough;

And after rising from the floor,

I limp and hobble out the door.


© Copyright 2017 Phoebe Kishbaugh. All rights reserved.

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