my story is not pretty

Sun, 03/04/2018 - 13:20 -- staysha

As i watch the tears fall from my sister's eyes as she is dragged by her hair


Her whimpers as her face gets scraped on the concrete.


The bloody elbows, bloody knees, bloody face all covered in her salty tears


The hazy yet sorrow filled look in her eyes, As each step the officer takes brings more tears down her face.


The one who was holding me back so i could not go save her.


My tears OUR tears splashing on the parking lot.


The look on the policeman's face as he shoves her in his car.


My mom yelling because he hurt my sister and she did not deserve it.


Just let it go  

it’s over now.

It was years ago

Don’t be a baby

She probably deserved it

Thats all thats the reason you dont like cops

The things people say all running through my head making me confused.

It reminds me of the time when i did not share just kept the hurt inside

The hurt of being touched and feeling really bad

Of sexual harassment in my own bed

At the tender age of  6 my childhood began to crumble

And from there it was as though if i tumbled i would fall

Fall into a life full of sadness and depression

So at the age of 15 i decided to grab a knife and punish myself

Punishment for not helping my sister at the age of 7

Punishment for being a burden

Punishment for my pain

Punishment for the pain i have caused the tears that paved the way

And the thing i carved right in my leg was

Be happy

I had to be happy about today and about tomorrow

Happy about the pain

Push through it was all so long ago anyways

I had to make myself ok

Make myself better so i could be a hero

And rescue my family forever

As it continued i began to remember the things i have gone through

My mom moved away was it my fault?

My sister is addicted to heroine is that my fault?

My heart feels as though a tap would make it crumble.

And with that i continue to stumble

Stumble through my life pretending everything is normal

Worried that i will hurt someone and make them feel alone

Worried about what their lives are like at home

I cried myself to sleep night after night

And what i go for proof is the scars from that night

Oh yes i cracked eventually i broke down a sobbing mess

But in doing so told about the painful thing i did to my leg

I went to a therapist the 4th the 5th the 6th? Who knows what number this one is?

But what i do know is this

My pills seemed to stop working quite as well and know i feel as though my life is a lot like hell

I can’t fix it on my own

But why would i want to tell

I talk to my mom,my dad , both pairs but not together i talk to my sister who is doing fine but could always be better

I guess there is a redeeming part in the end

My family does not blame the way i did then

My family tells me they love me and they care

My family says they will be here for me even when i want to run

They will follow me for sure

When i say i'll run away

They all come run with me.

My family loves me this is true

But why i ask myself

But when i ask my question aloud the answer is yes

Yes we love your quirks yes we love your faults.


This poem is about: 
My family


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