Why do you hurt the only people who actually care about you?
Are you too busy wallowing in self pity and misery
to study the detailed mosaic of a daughter's sympathy?
The brightly coloured tiles paint a picture for you only
yet you refuse to even acknowledge the art.
In case you didn't notice:
I was the one screaming through sobs and helplessly begging for him
to stop, even though I knew you hit him first.
I was the one trying to keep you alive when your skin sunk in
and your bones stuck out and your wrists shook with weakness.
I was the one holding your hand while you were praying to die.
I was the one helping you clean the fragments of broken mirrors off the floor
and I guess I should have known that trying to pick up the glass in your heart
would only leave me ****** and broken, too.