I wake up every morning

from a total lack of sleep,

soaking wet with tears and sweat

from notions that I keep.

I still can feel the bruises

from the beating that I got,

a belt to mesh with tender flesh –

it happens quite a lot.

My parents say they love me,

but I know it isn’t true,

another ruse my dad will use

to beat me black and blue.

When every session’s over

and my blouse – a bloody mess,

I try to gain composure,

and my sins – I’ll just confess.

But all the wrongs I’m guilty of

are never quite defined –

I have no clue what not to do –

I guess it’s by design.

I know I’m disappointing

and deserving of their spite –

I try my best to win their love,

but I just can’t get it right.

I haven’t an example,

of the way I ought to be –

it’s way too late to set me straight,

there’s no one here but me.

My world is just a cellar

where it’s always dark and damp,

a bed and pan unfit for man –

where the rats and roaches camp.

I’d love to take a shower,

have a brush to groom my hair,

a happy tune, a fork and spoon –

but ask? – I wouldn’t dare.

I dreamed of being rescued,

that was very long ago –

the one so brave who’d come to save,

who always failed to show.

But things are looking better,

there’s a future I can see –

the key to my salvation,

to a better place for me.

I’m blessed I found this razor-blade

just lying on the floor –

perhaps a gift from Heaven,

since it wasn’t there before.

I feel no hesitation,

know exactly what to do,

against the grain, some welcomed pain

and flows of crimson hue.

I’m lying in the stillness,

as the darkness turns to light,

with warmth of attestation

that I finally got it right.