The Little Girl with Pigtails

Written by: Stacy Stiles

She’s the little girl with pigtails,
who sits quietly at her desk.
Whose eyes lift to meet no one,
whose clothing is always a mess.

He’s the little boy on the playground,
whose strays alone without a friend.
Whose countless cuts and bruises,
are too deep for those to mend.

She’s the little girl in the lunch line,
who stares at classmates having fun.
Her mouth never forms a smile,
her long sleeves cover what’s been done.

He’s the little boy, who lashes out in anger,
as his classmates stop and stare,
in wonder at the skeptical, of a little boy
who seldom had a word to share.

She’s the little girl who recites excuses,
for every injury her tiny body may bear.
A rehearsed story told so perfectly,
no one notices the blankness within her stare.

He’s the little boy who startles so easily,
and jumps at the loudest sound.
A little boy covered in shades of blue,
inflicted by an abuser his fate is bound. 

She’s the little girl with pigtails,
she sits alone, without a friend to tend,
a black tinted heart of abusiveness,
hidden injuries never to mend.

They were the little boy and girl in the classroom,
who sat quietly alone, concealing the crime,
of living a life-time at the hands of an abuser,
who raised their hands of abuse one last time.