he would stand tall
with a smirk on his face
he would look us in the eye
and quote five minutes
knowing that he won
my elder brother and I
would run as fast as we could
to clean the house
a futile attempt
to protect ourselves
the other kids were exempt
because they were his,
the lucky bastards
and my mother
turned a blind eye
one, two, three, four...
he would count
what was out of order
and we would tremble
because we knew
one, two, three, four...
he used a belt with
metal spikes that
would leave us recovering
until next time
five, six, seven, eight...
it hurt, but not enough to cry
we've been through this before
and if we had broken then
than we wouldn't have made it
YOU ARE READING
My Book of Poems
PoetryHello, I'm not going to lie. I suck at conversations, especially if I have to introduce myself. This is partially what I write about. You see, I write when I freak out. I write when I can't deal with being myself. So I hope you will take a look into...
