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Mar 2014
Here's a small story that starts when I'm four
when we kept track of my height in the frame of the door
When I cried because the dog chewed up my stuffed toys
And I didn't even notice the existence of boys
So my dear mommy pulled out her sewing kit
And she fixed them all up in just a little bit
She warned me not to touch the pins that were sharp
And while I waited my daddy took me to the park

Now here's the tale of when I was six
When the moving truck pulled up to my apartment of bricks
When I bawled because I had to say my first ever good bye
To my daddy who stayed inside so I wouldn't see him cry
And our new house was shady and rocked in every storm
And in winter my mom had a man who at night kept her warm
With whose son in which I began to think I was in love
And I prayed to God in heaven above

Moving forward to around the age of eight
When I cried to my papa because my mom was late
when little I knew that she was sleeping around
With another new boyfriend, rather rebound
Who one day, while alone, got a little too close
And I cried at home because I knew it was gross
And my mother left sharp things lying around
Which worried my Nana when ever they were found

Here's to the year of which I was merely ten
When I cried in the neighbor boy's living den
When his father shot a kitten in our yards
So his son tried to stop my tears by playing pokemon cards
But he was taken away from his perverted dad
Who hit on my mom, and touched my areas that were bad
which I never told my papa at home
Instead I cried at night in my bedroom alone

In time came the summer before I was thirteen
I sobbed next to papa, frail and lean
Who lie in his coffin, unmistakably dead
When I left, eyes swollen and feet heavy as lead
Soon my Nana came to move in with us
and nobody cared that I had started to cuss
My attention shifted to boys more and more
and at thirteen I was labelled a *****

By the age of fourteen I'd begun to hide
To respect the rules I said I'd abide,
And instead of crying where I wouldn't be found
I cut with sharp things my mom left lying around
and I no longer prayed to the lord above
I clung to the desperate need for love
And in summer no one questions why my sleeves are rolled down
because no one notices my smiles from a frown.
Kaitlin
Written by
Kaitlin  Illinois
(Illinois)   
284
   Pushing Daisies
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