Tuesday, November 8, 2011
No one ever sees what is in front of them,
instead they turn a blind eye as to ignore.
The day will come when we will WAR!
Take back our innocence for sake of what makes sense.
Adults at times when children whine,
not for attention but from the pain of what they've never done.
You could be so good, never have those tears roll down your cheeks,
and yet they still beat, and beat you till your whipped in such a way,
that you will stand, as I did to him, my step-father on one given day.
Beat me till I cry,
beat me till I'm blue,
beat me till I'm black,
beat me till I'm all of that.
That will be the day you see, I look into your eyes,
the fear in me will turn to rage, and the anger will have won.
As a child, age of Four, he beat with his belt and more,
I don't know what I did but if I should die from this,
then know that fighting is not resist, for that is for the boys in bliss.
I am a girl, I cannot grow, for at this age, I did say "NO."
So past the point of no return, I'll never grow,
to only turn upon my own,
so I can feel, justified in what you deal.
Pain and torture are not yours, a step-father's chores,
for in this body, in which I live, the memories come and show to me,
that what's for you will come from me, at the end of a belt, you'll be,
kept my prisons of your mind, for that is where I found my kind.
They will come from far below, but as I grow in confidence,
I will know that ponds are Seas and Oceans flow with ships and he's.
What will be is not so far, pay back from what public schools do; They scar!
Called from home you're green cards done, for this is not your place to rot.
As you age, and as she drops, you will be in quite the spot.
Run to England, I will tell, everyone of this in Hell.
They'll choose me because I see,
I am unique and I don't need,
anything that's more to do,
with hurting children just to rue.
These are your sins, our bravery is lost,
in replace you have the cost,
of one sweet girl who never lost,
but stands so still with stripes from 'till.
I cannot hate for that will bait,
the inner rage that needs a cage,
but when its loosed and when you fear,
the shadows of the ones that near.
Cry not to God, for he is dead,
and what replaces, is not me.
You called me scape-goat,
you said "I sinned."
You're daughter Sarah has this contagion within.
Spouting that she knows affairs, of the wares:
The Pope would swear!
Even Catholics, devout and clean,
could not keep up with whats this mean.
I might explain, I may not spend, the time, the energy,
to play your game.
I won so many years ago,
the shock, the horror must set in though.
For Englishmen will come to you,
knock on your door, to speak the truth.
Upon this day, know the way, it's not the English that will erupt.
Hold your tongue and know you're done,
all I've done is barely begun,
sadness took my innocence,
there is "No Bravery" in what makes no sense.
I see you like the man you were,
mean and cruel, hired for her.
Remember I prey upon my feet,
but what is so really neat,
there is a Man, he looks for me,
you might say that, "History repeats."