What did I do that was so bad?
Apart from accusing my dad.
For hitting me so hard it hurt.
Why can’t I seem to make things work?
I wish I could cry a lot less.
But how can I when my head’s a mess?
All my thoughts are tangled up.
I always feel so down on my looks.
I thought parents were meant to make you smile.
Sit with you while you cry for a while.
They’re the reason I have been in care.
They’re the reason I feel there is no one there.