Abuse in a Child's Eyes

Sun, 03/15/2015 - 23:30 -- Kasta

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I was a deer stopped dead

in its tracks.

My head pounding;

butterfly swarms trying to push out my chest.

Though the spotlight shone on me,

I was alone.

Fear, panic, anxiety calling my name,

neither one explained the pain  -  I felt

when my mother lay on the torn couch

tears staining the black bags under her eyes.

Her wrist like a deformed mutant hand  -  broken.

The fist-formed bruises marked her arms like tattoos.

Her body screamed abuse.

The flaws are imprinted in my brain.

Searching the building I used to call home

a broken baby chair was thrown.

Scratches on the floor like the cuts on my arm

it wasn’t even me that he did the harm.

But he did leave me one scar

one I will have till the end.

My own father, whom I loved

wished I was dead.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Our world

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