My Purse

I carry my purse wherever I go.

I have private things inside that I never show.

I have a phone and a wallet amongst other things.

Sometimes I even carry around my favorite rings.

Late one night,

the tv was on and bright.

I lay in bed as my siblings sleep

I wondered where my father could be

then I must of fell asleep,

later on my father came in without a creek.

My purse lay out on the bed next to lotion

my father felt it just had to be opened.

I woke to him in my purse

What did he want?

He had no remorse

My brother came in, calm and steady.

My dad turned quick, he wasn’t ready

I grabbed my purse and ran out.

My mind had some doubt.

I couldn’t believe he touched my purse,

because of this my doubts only got worse.

As I got home I greeted my sister,

for I had really missed her.

I cried and said…

my dad grabbed my purse from the bed.

She was shocked, I could tell

and all I wanted to do was bail.

She told my mom, and she reacted

She called my dad and he acted.

We knew the truth and I was hurt

all he did was treat us like dirt.


This poem is about: 
My family


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