[Okay, before I make the same mistake as last time, this is a poem that I WROTE. I put my heart and soul into every word. So Don't even think about trying to steal it and use it for your own. You didn't write it. If you're that pathetically horrible at writing that you have to go and steal other people's work than maybe you should find a different hobby. Okay, here it is.]
Sally is a girl.
She's never had much to offer the world.
Why would she?
Nothing has ever been offered to her.
Her brother's the only one who cares.
But he's never there.
He couldn't hack it.
All she has is his old jean jacket.
Mom's a recluse.
She block's out the world,
Stares off into space,
Won't even look her daughter in the face.
Daddy's never home.
Unless he's drunk,
Blind,
With something young on his mind.
Something unresponsive,
To sink his demons into,
Something to use.
It doesn't matter who she is,
Or that she's his little girl.
He doesn't even know.
He doesn't even care.
This is the cross she's forced to bare.
It hardly seems fair.
Does it?
She doesn't complain.
How could she?
She stopped talking at the age of thirteen.
That doesn't compare to fifteen.
The headlines would have read:
"Date rape outside of Club Red."
But nothing was said.
Nobody knew.
Nobody cared.
It's just the cross she's forced to bare.
It hardly seems fair.
Sixteen-
She took a tab of ecstasy.
She liked the way the lights changed colors.
She liked the way her skin tingled.
So she did it again.
And made herself a lot of new friends.
They seemed nice.
They tied the tourniquet just right.
And took her on a brand new ride.
She wasn't scared.
It's just the cross she was made to bare.
Or at least that's what they told her.
One night she tried to fly.
She was seventeen and had the time.
Or at least that what they told her.
They said,
"Die young and have a good looking corpse."
But where were they on December fourth?
Two people dressed in black.
Screaming inside to get that little girl back.
Her brother-
Tears in his eyes,
And their mother at his side.
His fists clenched,
Longing for a neck to wrench.
But they weren't there.
This is the cross she was made to bare.
It hardly seems fair.
She had nothing to offer.
There was no way to save her.
Only a wooden box could cage her.
This is the truth about Sally.
Sally was a girl.
What's wrong with this world?
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