She's a close friend, a good friend.
I remember when she was the weak one,
when she cried out for help.
That's when I couldn't do anything,
but sit back and watch.
Watch her cry from the bruises.
Watch her tear up whenever she talked about it.
"I have to get out," She would say.
She had to leave,
Daddy messed up and she had to pay.
He sat at home,
while she cried on the phone.
They said it was all her fault
But no parent should hit their child.
Their flesh, their blood.
The baby of the family.
The one who pushed her parents away
and he hits her to keep her close.
 
Copyright © youngpoet19, All Rights Reserved