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An abused child hurts every day of their life,
They do not know how to live without strife.
Beaten by someone they use to know,
Often they wonder where else they can go.
The little child waits in the dark cold room,
While the dead silence holds onto their gloom.
Like a caged bird locked up never flying to roam,
They're trapped in a prison they call their home.
In their mind, they think they can do nothing,
While their lost innocence hunger for something.
Something to find love, and a peace of mind,
Away from drama, and suffering all of the time.
At night they want to sleep and dream,
They cannot escape from constant screams.
The screams of their ridicule every day,
No matter how they do, or what they say.
They try to let go of the darkness within,
Life is hard when death is all one feels they live in.
People often see the stress in their weary eyes,
From all of their long night tearful cries.
They continually see the bruises and scrapes,
The child looks welted, scarred, and raped.
People notice, but there's nothing they say,
They just wait and watch every single day.
The day comes, and the child starts to die,
Fading away they question, “Why?
Why were people just waiting to see,
Whatever in my life would happen to me?”
Thinking they deserved what they went through,
They thought love had to hurt. It is all they knew.
Now people say, “We had a feeling we saw signs!”,
The story is written, there's no reading between the lines.
