Four and a half children die
Each day
The statistics say

This is a terrible problem
You say
You urge your employees to listen
To listen well
To watch for the warning signs
To prevent it
Yes, please
This is a problem
Each day
Four and a half children die
Because of child abuse

What if I told you
Your problem is bigger
So much bigger
Exponentially larger

Yes,
I would argue
That number needs to be
Adjusted

More like
Hundreds of thousands
Of Children
Die
Each day

As they are
Neglected
When then they should be loved
Verbally torn down
When they should be built up
Touched
Where they shouldn't be touched
They die
Slowly, painfully
They are
Alienated
Slowly, painfully
They sink away
Flipping inside out
Caving in
Only in their very depths
Do they find anything
Even remotely resembling
Solace
They are
Confused
They are
Angry
They are
Alone

There is no one
No one to talk to
No one to trust

At some point
Their senses cease to exist
They stop tasting
They stop smelling
They stop seeing
They stop hearing
They stop

Feeling

And everything goes
Black and
Numb

So they stumble
Eyes closed
Arms flailing
Thrusting there head above the waves

Sure, they're still breathing
But they're not
Alive

Someone asked me what the marks where,
I said they were flowers.
They did not understand.
I explained to them,
They are flowers that started as seeds.
I planted those seeds in me,
They blossomed,
It hurt me.
But now they are beautiful.
My flowers have saved me, you know.
My scars are flowers.