The Black Crow Poem by Untitled Author

A black crow perches itself on the corner
A corner where it isn't bothered
Where the winds of the home don't blow
Where the home slowly creeks and cries
The home of a thousand lies
It watches and grows
It sits and knows
Yet it never stays home
It poses itself with boys
A happy life I wish to enjoy
It sits at the podium saying sorry
Sorry for what?
For breaking me hard and rough
For making me pull away when it's barely tough
For making me adore those red gems that stream down my wrist
For making me fear the dark
For the claw marks on my body
For the fear of a man ever touching me
For the shadows ever reaching me
For being the thunder in that storm
That one storm
A black crow only feeds on dead animals
That is why the black crow killed me first
The black crow knows and grows, just to shrink little old me.