Curled in a corner

There is a small figure

Her dark hair

Hides her face


She hears a door slam

And curls even tighter

As though she can turn



her father comes home

Vodka in the air

As he searches for

His little girl


His booted foot lashes out

Kicks her ribs and

Calls her

Ugly names


She whimpers and curls

Into a tighter ball

Trying to eliminate

The pain


She's thrown against

A hard crumbling wall

And lays there limp