Iron
Sweet
red iron
Flowing From
Knuckles Opened
On a cinder block
Wall Revenge
Enacted Trough
an idiotic Touch
A whim fist
To a stone
Instead Of
a face A bat
To a tree
Regret
Released
In faith
The cracks would reveal
Would let go
Let flow
Through metal
The
Anger
In my
Hands
In my mind
In the
Tree
In the
Stone
What good?
Did it do?

The iron fist
A name that should be capitalized
The name alone makes one shiver
Shiver like freezing water being thrown on you

Not like the ice challenge
Like your mother throwing gallons on you
While your in the tub
She makes you lay there

You beg for her to stop
She doesn't and grabs a switch instead
Not the small ones either
The ones that are extra thick

She pours
You begs
She stops and cusses
"Shut the **** up or I'll get more water"
You cry silently
Hoping she'll stop
She grabs the switch off the toilet
She whips your *******
Stomach
Arm
You turn
She whips your back
****
Even your feet

You scream for a god that's not there
"Shut the **** up!"
WHIP!
You cry silently

She goes away
You jump out of the tub
Run naked into your room
Lock the door

The iron fist knocks
"Open this **** door"
You weep"Go away mommy"

She kicks the door down
Punches you down
Chokes you
Gets up
Grabs her gun
Puts it in your mouth
Tells you stop crying or you die
"Mommy don't"
"Shut up! You think this is a game?"
"No mommy!"
She lifts you up
"Stop crying you *****! Or you'll be dying tonight"
You stop but still whimper
She drops you and leaves your room

No words were said for the rest of that night

Kinda ironic
I write poems and find myself
writing about how much I hate English.
I don't want to read
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde again
or analyse a play!
No matter how interesting.
The themes are the the themes
and the characters the story tellers
but to me it's just words
No link in my head.
Every sentence is read.
Then the next,
makes no sense.
It all seems out of context
but no one realises
I don't know what the ****
the teacher goes on and on about,
it goes over my head.
I can't explain my ideas
because I can't make them myself
and I can't understand where anyone else's are from.
So I lead my self on a tangent,
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
but will never come back to the beginning.
Writing aimlessly
but no one seems to see;
it's all nonsense to me.
Kinda ironic.