The Abused

I cry all day, i have no friends, my house is like my jail,
He is at work as we speak, my body is bruised and frail,
It hurts to breath, I am in pain, I must of done something wrong,
I wish that he would just die, I wish that he was gone.

My mother thinks I am clumsy, I keep falling down the stairs,
But she is always high on stuff, I don't think anyone cares,
One day I'll ring a policeman, and tell them what they do,
At the moment I'm too scared to speak, you won't hear me say boo.

Sometimes it's belts, or the feather duster cane, and recently his fists,
He stomps around in an alcohol fuelled rage, I deserve it he insists,
I think that I'm a bad boy, as I touch scars across my face,
I think that I will die here, I need to get out of this place.

When he is home, I go and hide, the cupboard usually shelters me,
I stay very still till he passes out, I don't even come out to pee,
I don't go to school, I'm not very bright, but I know that pain is bad,
I wish I had parents that cared, I wish he was a good dad.

One day I seized my chances, and I have finally run away,
I'm glad that I have left my home, there is no way I would stay,
I'm living on the streets now, and surviving as I can,
At least he can't get me here, at least I can be a man.