I've pissed the bed again
How many times will I have to change the sheets
If it was not the blood from him, it was the piss from me
His weapon of pleasure turned purple,
I was not ready or ripe
I was too young for what was happening
But he promised me it was right.
He told me this is love,
How was I ever to know that a man who was supposed to love me,
was being so untrue.
My second nightmare this week woke me
Drowning in a soaking bed
I was looking over a little girl
who was myself
Am I dead?
I saw a giant body over mine
All I could do was scream
But it was no good, no one ever heard me.
How many times will I have to wash my sheets
Because of what you have done
But no matter how many times I wash them
The damage is done.
YOU ARE READING
Do I qualify as crazy?
PoetryA collection of poems surrounding child abuse; how the traumas can linger, the experience of the traumas itself in multiple perspectives, the psychological ramifications and more. I hope through poetry I can help raise further awareness about child...
