Her Puffs Were Therapy

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I never went to her house before.

I never was invited.

She would always want to come by me and when she did, cigarettes were all she lighted.

She had told me “it releases the stress, it releases all the pain”, I looked at her as if she was completely insane.

Puff after puff she would tell me that she hates her guardians, that she wish she lived with me.

It was getting late so I took her home, which was just across the street.

She opened the door and closed it quickly.

The only thing I smelt was her step-moms smoked weed, that was the story she told me after cigarette number three.

As I turned around all I heard was my friends scream.

All I imagined were bruises being made onto her body.

That night she knocked on my door saying, “Can you please invite me to a sleepover party”.

I let her in and opened my arms wide to give her a hug.

She walked past me, but I knew the reason was that her body hurt her too much.

I asked her where it pains her most, she pointed to my heart.

 

A POEM OF A CHILD WITH A BRUISED HEART.

 

 

References:
Picture: Wiki Howo

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