The Little Girl With Pigtails
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.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
