Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
AmandaISPoems
Cigarette burns A nearly-broken arm Spit ***** sandpaper, A face rubbed in the mud. So used to all those other names I quite forgot my own. It was all dealt with differently back then, Not really condemned. I was made to feel that it was my fault For not conforming To social norms. I brought it on myself. I hid under the stairs Tensing, sensing Their approach Anticipating spit, and pain, Determined not to cry again. They found me, of course They always found me I had nowhere to go. The hiding places were easily unearthed By jolly torturers. Eventually, It was easier to join in And self torment. It took me years to ditch those angry habits And some of them Have never gone away.
0
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Old Scars
Cigarette burns A nearly-broken arm Spit ***** sandpaper, A face rubbed in the mud. So used to all those other names I quite forgot my own. It was all dealt with differently back then, Not really condemned. I was made to feel that it was my fault For not conforming To social norms. I brought it on myself. I hid under the stairs Tensing, sensing Their approach Anticipating spit, and pain, Determined not to cry again. They found me, of course They always found me I had nowhere to go. The hiding places were easily unearthed By jolly torturers. Eventually, It was easier to join in And self torment. It took me years to ditch those angry habits And some of them Have never gone away.
AmandaIS
Written by
AmandaIS
English
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem