When she was six
ou yelled in front of her.
She cried
and couldn't be comforted.
When she was eight, you yelled at her
for not having proper etiquette.
She cried again,
and tried to be what you wanted.
When she was just ten and didn't get a part in the play
you yelled at her teacher.
(She didn't want the part anyway.)
Then, she was scared to go to school,
because she didn't want her teachers to yell at her too.
When she was twelve, she became depressed
because she thought she ugly and fat.
(maybe she was right)
You still yelled at her father
in front of her,
and she still cried at night when no one could see.
When she was thirteen,
all she remembers is you yelling,
and being pit against you two.
She would lock herself in the bathroom,
and cry until her eyes were red and dry;
thoughts of suicide and blades running 'round in her mind.
She never had the courage to do it.
Until that day when you said you hated her,
She remembers it like it was yesterday.
She walked down the hall to her corner room,
and slide a sharp fingernail across her wrist.
That was that,
there was no going back.
From then on whenever you yelled,
not only did she cry ,
but also she cut-
hiding the marks with bracelets of her favorite bands.
When she was fourteen, she lost her home.
She moved in with her grandparents,
never did she cut so much,
when you yelled at them
or said we were never getting out.
She remembers being petrified at night,
that you would be mad in the morning.
Still, she locked herself in the bathroom with a silver pocket knife
digging into her thighs.
She questioned her sanity as well as her purity,
The only other relief she found was in an orgasm.
No, it wasn't right.
She constantly feared you finding out,
but she finally felt beautiful.
Unfortunately not in the right ways.
When she was fifteen, you did found out .
You threatened to kill her
Little did you know she already wanted
to do that herself.
She apologized incessantly and
became something you wanted.
She finds comfort only in poetry now.
She is me.
I am her.
We're sixteen now.
The anxiety is worse than ever,
but no one knows.
When I still cry myself to sleep at night,
and slide that blade across my skin,
no one knows.
No one cares.
I count down the days to when I can leave
this horrible place.
Your snide comments,
hidden by a mask when you're with other people.
She can see through your lies,
and she knows what you do.
How unfaithful you are to your husband,
but she doesn't tell.
She doesn't want to cause a scene.
I keep to myself,
because you don't like my friends.
Whenever you yell now,
I think of killing myself.
You wouldn't care, would you?
You'd put on your plastic smile...
and everyone would say how good of a mother you were
but they don't know.
And they never will.
I'm sorry the grammar was so terrible before. I was just upset and writing as fast as I could. I think I've fixed it now. xx
ou yelled in front of her.
She cried
and couldn't be comforted.
When she was eight, you yelled at her
for not having proper etiquette.
She cried again,
and tried to be what you wanted.
When she was just ten and didn't get a part in the play
you yelled at her teacher.
(She didn't want the part anyway.)
Then, she was scared to go to school,
because she didn't want her teachers to yell at her too.
When she was twelve, she became depressed
because she thought she ugly and fat.
(maybe she was right)
You still yelled at her father
in front of her,
and she still cried at night when no one could see.
When she was thirteen,
all she remembers is you yelling,
and being pit against you two.
She would lock herself in the bathroom,
and cry until her eyes were red and dry;
thoughts of suicide and blades running 'round in her mind.
She never had the courage to do it.
Until that day when you said you hated her,
She remembers it like it was yesterday.
She walked down the hall to her corner room,
and slide a sharp fingernail across her wrist.
That was that,
there was no going back.
From then on whenever you yelled,
not only did she cry ,
but also she cut-
hiding the marks with bracelets of her favorite bands.
When she was fourteen, she lost her home.
She moved in with her grandparents,
never did she cut so much,
when you yelled at them
or said we were never getting out.
She remembers being petrified at night,
that you would be mad in the morning.
Still, she locked herself in the bathroom with a silver pocket knife
digging into her thighs.
She questioned her sanity as well as her purity,
The only other relief she found was in an orgasm.
No, it wasn't right.
She constantly feared you finding out,
but she finally felt beautiful.
Unfortunately not in the right ways.
When she was fifteen, you did found out .
You threatened to kill her
Little did you know she already wanted
to do that herself.
She apologized incessantly and
became something you wanted.
She finds comfort only in poetry now.
She is me.
I am her.
We're sixteen now.
The anxiety is worse than ever,
but no one knows.
When I still cry myself to sleep at night,
and slide that blade across my skin,
no one knows.
No one cares.
I count down the days to when I can leave
this horrible place.
Your snide comments,
hidden by a mask when you're with other people.
She can see through your lies,
and she knows what you do.
How unfaithful you are to your husband,
but she doesn't tell.
She doesn't want to cause a scene.
I keep to myself,
because you don't like my friends.
Whenever you yell now,
I think of killing myself.
You wouldn't care, would you?
You'd put on your plastic smile...
and everyone would say how good of a mother you were
but they don't know.
And they never will.
I'm sorry the grammar was so terrible before. I was just upset and writing as fast as I could. I think I've fixed it now. xx
