You think you could survive in my shoes?
Please, you don't know half of the abuse.
So you I shall tell.
My story-the story on how I fell.
The girl was just another drunk.
She lied, cursed me, beat me, and she stunk.
Every night she'd have another beer.
Then inside of me planted fear.
She'd throw me against the door.
She'd beat me while I lay helplessly on the floor.
She'd use whatever she could, a lamp.
Or maybe a thick rope that'd be damp.
'Useless' she'd spit in my face.
How dare you call me the disgrace.
In her mouth she'd pop another cigar.
From death she'd wish she were far.
No please, keep smoking.
All I ever hear is your croaking.
You are not my mom!
Your a hazardous bomb!
About me you'd never care.
This life-or-death isn't fair.
Instead I'm left with this scar.
What a burden you are!
I gave you a choice to choose.
But on me, you left the bruise.
On your way to jail I hope you cruise,
Becuase you don't know half the abuse.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryPoetry with various ideas and different backrounds. Please leave comments on anything I can improve on. Also let me know that you want, more poems and if they're good. Thank you fellow readers. And fellow writers- Rtue writers don't find creativity...
