The day I died,
I was so done,
Because I knew that you’d move on,
The day I died,
I knew in my heart,
That you had done everything in your power,
To tear me apart.
The day I died,
My soul had too,
It had flown away,
Into the blue.
The day I died,
I was young and frail,
You first tried to break me to no prevail;
Yet,
You knew my weakness.
The day I died you broke me and my wall.
The day I died you left me on the ground.
The day I died you spat in my face,
That I was nothing but a disgrace.
Yet,
The day I died I was ashamed,
Of everything that was me.
The day I died, I knew I was a mistake,
And that my soul was left for you to take.
The day I died was the same as every other day,
Not because of the constant abuse,
But because every day I kept loving you.
The day I died, my brain was still set,
That we would walk into the beach and watch the sun set,
As you would hold me in your arms,
And kiss all my scars.
The day I died I still hoped that somehow you’d love me,
And tell me that I didn’t need to worry.
Somehow I loved you.
And that was the day I died.
This poem is written by my youngest poet friend, Bella 12 years old.