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

Father yells and Mother cries,
as he blackens both her eyes.
No one acts like they’re surprised
and Mother has stopped wondering why.

Is it our fault? Born into this.
This can’t be what real love is—
to yell at, beat and resent your own kids,
to punish them with shoes and fists.

We’ve been forced to grow up this way,
called names and hit everyday,
never understanding why Mom stays.
Survival was hard, but still we prayed.

Suffering torment we can’t comprehend,
begging God for this to end,
save our souls so we can mend.
Still, tortured time and time again.

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