Disfunctional.

A poem about abuse at home.

This whispers of pain,
Hurt yet are softer than your touch,
The touch of the words creator,
You,
It stings better than a bubble bee,
Your evil touch,
How poisonous you are to me,
Hurts all,
But I have grown immune.

Your hurtful days,
When your so drunk you throw punches,
And your so high you try and run us over with your truck,
But I have to love you,
I'm love strung on this painful sliver,
Like a thorn on a rose,
You burn my skin,
And regret birth.

All those lies I told my friends,
"I was sick,"
"My dog was hyper,"
"It was an acident,"
Were all to cover you up,
So to hide my home hell.

All those nights,
When you were so drunk you threw punches,
When you were so high you tried to run us over with your truck,
I will never forget,
You've scared me beyond what I've ever thought possible.

And every day since that faithful day,
The day you died,
I have been free from you hurtful hands,
Away and banished from this earth,
And thank god now,
We are free.

Author's Note

Like it?

Reviews

[xNote_to_selfx]

I'm surprised to see you have yet to get a comment for this poem. It was a little choppy and, rough, but full of raw emotion which in this case I think made up for that. Over all, I think it's a good write :)