He was a lonely boy, dealing with so much more than what his peers would have to deal with. He was always by himself, his gaze averted downwards, his steps so small and his body so lifeless. A look into his eyes revealed so much pain, brokenness, hopelessness and a glimpse of anger and sadness. The bruises on his body told a story, and even though he would smile to hide the pain, hurt and tear drops could still be traced on his face. His homework was hardly ever done, or did he have a lunch box or maybe clean clothes. They teased him, the children I mean, they teased him because they did not understand what he was going through and the teachers were all so ignorant to notice the bruises, the scars and the eyes screaming help. At a young age he was robbed his happiness, to him the word was foreign and sadness was familiar. He woke up each day missing his mother and remembering what she had told him, "to be strong"; even though it was getting harder everyday, he never wanted to disappoint the only person who made sure he was always happy. But on his 10th birthday he reached his breaking point, he cried as he ran down the road holding on tight to a small piece of paper and even though he knew what's awaited him at home, he couldn't care less, he knew the routine would be him getting slapped, punched, kicked and told to go up to his room; and the exact same thing happened except this time he didn't go to his room to cry, he went there to end his pain and he succeeded.
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Poetry Is Therapy
PoetryI just recently started to share my work as a growing poetess and this will just have love poems ranging from heartbreak to happiness and a lot other poems about life. I'm not really a great writer and will purely appreciate your constructive critic...
