Good grades,

Clean clothes,

Obedient behavior.

Perfect child.

So why do you hurt them so much?

Trauma leaves a mark
That cannot be erased
Stays with you forever
Something not to be praised
But time is a healer
The memory with time fades
You cannot forget
What caused that trauma
That made that imprint
Which stays in your mind

They talk about the act,

But never the feeling after.

They don't talk about the guilt,

The blood sticking to your sleeve.

The cleaning up after

Or the simple lack of it.

They don't talk about people asking,

And you saying it's because of the cat,

Half a million times.

Ban everything,
Media,
Differences,
And the will to live.

Ban everything, except yourself.

Child of clay,
Born in the shadow of death and decay.
Shaped and formed into what they're expected to be,
To be manipulated easily.

By the very hands that made them,
The hands that were supposed to care.
But what if they hate them, what then?
The creation crushed with just one stare.

And yet again, they're shaped and molded,
To always look as they please.
If they're not perfect, they will get scolded,
The cycle always repeats.

And when the creator is satisfied,
The flames **** the life out of the creation
They don't ever care about the child,
Just want to fulfill their temptations.

So the child stays alone,
Like none of this ever mattered.
And if it falls from the shelf, down below,
Its soul will immediately get shattered.