In a room, in a Corner

By

Raven A. Blackwood

In a room, in a corner.

They always said I was a mourner.

They locked me up,

Out of sight.

The room is small,

My bearing's tight.

At the age of five I was abused.

It was so bad,

I'm still bruised.

I see the kids out side,

Laughing, playing, having a good time.

I call for help,

But it's only a yelp.

For my voice is dull.

Three years past,

Only the scraps from dinner to eat.

And the daily torture,

The daily beat.

I hear the locks,

you should go now.

My rhyming is done,

dad just came in with a loaded gun.