It’s getting hard to breath, my lungs are giving out.
It’s getting hard to speak, you wore my voice out.
I can no longer walk, you destroyed my ability to.
Living was a gift, but you broke that to.
Can you see my scars I have?
Running down my wrists; bleeding…
Can you see the bruises…?
Then ones caused by weight I struggle to carry.
These make me look abused thanks to you
Now I hope you’re happy, to you its great news.
The cuts are getting deeper its happening more often.
The bruises make a collection of Black n’ Blue spots.
The scars represent how many things I have lost to you.
And that is everything.
Samantha Rose Turner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/abused-28/
