by Marti
what the eyes can see is not what defines me
not even the fears, lies, or hyperactivity
mom don't worry, i'm not your insecurities
my heart, spirit, the blood in my veins, are all god's property
i was told that god doesn't make junk
well why do the beatings makes me feel like a punk
each strike destroying joy and leaving pain
how much abuse can a child sustain
verbally and physically
i thought you loved me unconditionally
i'm like you, why don't you love us
feeling so blue from the smacks
no longer blue, all i feel is black
walking around, sometimes numb
no e.d. class for me, i'm not dumb
i want to be loved, i want to grow
teach me... show me that you know
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