She sits in a corner,
counting her blessings.
A home, food, clothes...
but not the wounds and dressings.
Her scars scream at her,
the eyes water with shame.
A six year old girl,
beaten all the same.
She's told she's nothing.
Drunken words are sober thoughts.
She loves her Daddy-
not the pain he's brought.
Her hair nappy and tangled,
a face so scared and bloody.
Her Daddy is lost, and his
brown eyes ruddy.
Tears rip through her
face's delicate plain.
She's beaten and abused,
a scapegoat for pain.
This hand has fed her, but marred
her too. What's to do
when the Hand that Feeds,
starts hitting you?
What did she do wrong?
She didn't scream or cry,
she didn't tell anyone,
or tell Daddy a lie...
Teacher asked her why
she was hurt.
She told her she fell
in the dirt.
The girl's face is
filthy and gaunt.
Her Daddy's hands,
will always haunt.
She cries on the bus, thinking
of those hands.
She wonders the way home, how
much more she can stand...
Daddy's mad again,
and he vents his hate.
The little girl falls,
meeting her fate.
Her trampled body,
is tortured no longer.
Daddy killed himself-
he finally fell under.
Bruises mark her
frail little face.
This world's forgotten her...
there's not even a trace.
Something that created you
can always destroy you.
I hope you haven't fallen into
the hands of the wrong creator