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Jun 2011 · 552
My Story
Emily Ferguson Jun 2011
That little girl lay her head down tonight to go to sleep
She was tied down to her bed, instructed not to make a peep
Still sore from her beating earlier that day
She silently cried and wished there would be a way
Someone would find out, get her out of this mess
If given the chance, she would've immediately said yes
Nobody would've suspected there were problems at home
Yet nobody noticed she always was alone.
She heard the stairs creak, she knew what was next
Why they even did it made her completely perplexed
Laying there sweating in the stifling heat
She knew it was time yet again to be beat
The windows were closed, nobody would hear
The result from her mom after having some beer
She tried not to yell, but the pain was too great
Why was she the victim of so much hate?
By the age of six, she was already dead inside
Having only her stuffed horse in which to confide.
She didn't know, she would never tell
She just hoped someone would hear her yell
Her teacher always used to ask if she was ok.
She lied and said yes so the teacher would say
"That's nice, now why don't you run and play"
The beatings gradually got worse and worse.
She felt as if she were under a curse
She still believed in God, and prayed for the end
But even God had decided he wasn't her friend.
Sad and confused, she survived through it all
Even that time she was slammed against a wall
Was she a bad child? Did she get what she deserved?
Nobody knew, saw or heard
To them she was a useless ****
Smacked on the face, Wooden spoon to the ****
It just got worse if her mouth wasn't shut
Yelled at, cursed at, bruised beyond belief
Nobody felt even an ounce of grief
Her school uniform hid most of it
The rest was because she "tripped"
Nobody noticed, nobody saw
Who would've guessed that wasn't from cat claws
She learned to become good at faking
All the while, her body was shaking
It became weak and scarred
As she let down her guard
She gave in to them and in return
She received some pretty bad burns
Not a soul was informed
While she silently mourned
Only 1 person knows, but her lips are sealed tight
They both hold it in with all their might
Cutting and starving sinking into depression
She no longer shows much aggression.
She's lost the battle, she'll never win
All because they started on what seemed like a whim
No proof is left, just a ruined girl
Eventually she'll crack and give it a whirl
Maybe the judges will stay on her side
Then she'll have nothing left to hide
My name is Emily, that girl is me
All this pain started when I was three
Every day I put on a mask and what do you know
Nobody could ever tell I'm putting on a show.
I'm thirteen now, and still in pain
Every day it feels like I'm being run over by a train.
It's too late for me but not for you
Every bit of this story is true
Please get help now, don't end up like me
Trust me; this is the worst place to be
In the us 1-800-394-3366 should be the number
And if you suspect something is up
Don't just sit there and wonder.
Go up to them and ask them what's up.
Every night I cry myself to sleep
Wondering why I didn't make a peep.
I'm suicidal, my time is almost up
Pretty soon this pain will stop abrupt
I know is not the answer, I know it's wrong
But listen to my desperate song
My name is Emily, and when I was three
My "mommy" started to abuse me

— The End —