a poem by Melyssa G. Sprott, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

Fodder for slaughter
am I my father’s daughter?
Violence in silence,
blood so thin it’s water.

Another excuse, enjoy the abuse—
drink the pain away.
Spend the night looking for a fight,
caught up in the fray.

I scream my name—take it in vain,
curse the moon in the sky.
Infuriated by this self-hatred,
blood so thin it’s a lie.

A past that haunts and takes what it wants,
wrath is a dangerous plague.
Cloudy and unclear—a nightmare so near,
memories I just can’t shake.

These mistakes, too easy to make—
I alone reap these crops.
Blood so thin, I am a sin—
and the bleeding never stops.

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