Little Old Me

I could still hear the dogs When I got to the water. They were close by. Sniffing, Searching All this fuss Just to find little old me. I'm a nobody. I'm not important. At least that's what I was told each night When my father would read me a drunken bedtime story And then "love" me until I bled. We didn't talk about those things in our small town. So I lived with my secret. I let it boil inside me like hot water Until one day, when that pot of water overflowed, The day my father put his hands on my mother. When I saw him swing, I blacked out, And when I came to, he was bleeding, and I was holding the knife. I ran away from home, all the way to the river, And I jumped off the bridge. When I hit the water, I realized what I had done. Gasping for air, thrashing my arms. Praying for forgiveness, Promising to go back to church. That's what it felt like the night I escaped. I jumped in the water, Colder than ice, and I couldn't touch. The current was too strong. It swept me under and I couldn't breathe. So I held my breath and found the shore. And now I'm here, Where everything started, In my old bedroom, same Superman sheets Same soccer trophies on the dresser. And you. Are you the same? My mother, the one who turned me in. You did it again, didn't you? You called the police. After all I've done for you? After I saved your life? I'm sorry it had to come to this. Be still mother, you won't feel a thing.