Sta.sh
He’s walking home alone again today,
With the bruises on his face,
Hidden by his fair blond hair.
Striding up the path,
Preparing for another painful night.
He thought, “If I were stronger, I wouldn’t have to fight,”
And,
It shouldn’t hurt to be a child.
It shouldn’t
Hurt
To be so young.
He knows he’s not the only one,
Even though he feels he has no one to talk to.
The kids they stare, but they don’t ask.
Sometimes he wished they did.
And soon enough he’ll have to give in,
To the weight of his Father’s iron fist.
And no one will ever know the secrets that he hid.
A boy is never too old to cry,
A boy is never too old to fall.
On his way to bed one evening,
When his Father had been drinking...
He pushed and he shoved,
And yet he couldn’t get up.
He cried. He screamed. He hoped and he prayed it would go away.
But so many bones had broken,
And yet he was glad he stood at the top of the stairs that day.
His Father demanded he stand, “Take it like a man!”
The boy whispered “I’m sorry, Daddy…”
And let himself slip away.
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i suffered domestic violence from my parents and my siblings, for quite a few years.
you've captured it really well.