There's a little girl that I met, she promised it was not me
Not my hand that painted my scars,
They're the only gift that my father left
Not my thoughts that caused the corruption of my present and childhood mess
So this girl,
She enters the hearts of the hurt then hands them a sweetened blade
And she's well aware what humans can do when vengeance attempts to persuade
My reflection is not who I am
It's simply a mirrored light
Father's body may have bled by my hand
But I refuse to believe that the sin is mine
And there's a woman that echos as a familiar whisper
That would prompt him every single time
It's thoughts like these that still linger,
The abuse that floods torrents through my mind
They won't hurt me now.
In death they can't reach me.
I never broke the bough.
I am a victim of an unheard plea.
Don't label me murderer.
When only I am the one who still continues to bleed.
Blame the parents that I had, I promise it was not me.
YOU ARE READING
You Can Cry When It Hurts - Short Poems
PoesíaJust a short collection of poems for you to read (if they're any good 😅) with some calming music. Remember you can cry when things hurt. Crying is good for you.
