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To me his clutter of treasure he gave,
He claimed away my tears,
My dreams, still a dare for him to take.
The laughs for which peaks I'd mount,
Felt nothing but a poisoned dagger,
Stabbing my heart without a count.
Fear is the only thing I can feel,
Would have chosen the hatred,
At least I wouldn't be called weak.
Why I cry, why does he tears me to tatters?
He is what he shouldn't be, so I am not what I wanted,
Just a rag doll for him, to beat and batter.
He hates me, my face he loathes,
A broken arm, or bleeding back,
Didn't hurt, a soul deep scar does.
Should've had my back, not on me,
He trampled my heart, my dream,
Abandoning a shell of me to weep.
YOU ARE READING
Creative Diary
PoetryA simple poetry book by a girl who believes , the more she sees world the less she desires to live.
