She never knew how it felt to have a good touch and be wanted for the right reasons.She was stained inside and out from all the hurt she had felt from the years passed.Whenever someone came close to show her kindness and show her the love that everyone searches for she would see all the abuse glisten through the scars on her flesh. How could one ever let another inside all that confusion that temple that should be treated with such care and appreciation was treated as nothing over and over and over again. Why should she believe that love really was something to want something to be valued when those who were placed in front of her to lead her in the path of happiness and enjoy the peace of mind that comes from being a child were the ones who placed each and every scar upon her body.She tried to keep a smile on her face despite it all but nothing could really cover it up or make it a thing of the past with each step she took on this path of life she was reminded of her fathers wrath when he would burn her flesh with the his force while using his belt as his weapon of choice.Nothing could ever prove to her that a man could ever possess a gentle touch as hurt was all she saw in each and every eye of a man she came in close contact with.
The death of the young By:©Saccheen Laing I put on my uniform Armed with books I set out in search of a good education. Streets lined with the blood stains of those who fell on the way I'm determined to live to see another day But I have no control over those who believe they can have their own way. Armed with guns and knives They attack me, They assault me, They abuse me , Because they believe they have control over me Because of guns and knives in hand. In my hands I write my plans A singer, an actor, a doctor, a fashion designer or a police man I clench my fist as my blood runs to join those who fell before My plans remain in my hands Never to be realized I am young but that means nothing on this land. The blood of the young will replace the ocean that surrounds and beautifies the land How many more shall die before you answer when I ask why? My mother shall cry and bury her son before he becomes a man My brot...
Comments
Post a Comment