Guns at Home

Drunk is the man, Who gave me the roots of my existence In this harsh, cold and dark world... For instance, He beats up his so-called darling heartbeat To a pulp, saying she's not caring about him Yet he spends the little he gets In bars, so late at night With his friends, who dance to the tunes of alcohol And use that chance to know harlots biblically... He pounces on them as prey Though they spread disease in the community Alas! The more he laughs, is the more he loses soberness Harnessing thoughts that we are his enemies On his return, to our ramshackled house! They say that a home is a safe place But to me it's like a warzone A heart rage of shame... Mother, so verbous that her words land out of place As she fires gruesome tantrums to her husband And as African men once nurtured, They shan't tolerate disrespect from a woman When he flogs her in front of my siblings and I Indeed our miniature size, prevails as our weakness Seeing our mother bleed, to the brink of death!