Why are the meek preyed upon?

Behind the coal stove--the warmest place in the house
she’d huddle and quiver as still as a mouse
Ma wasn’t in the mood for her to misbehave
though Ma was listening to folks praises, their raves
the buckle of Momma’s belt
subsequently raises welts
the child, hidden from sight, her body black and blue
the thing about strangers was that they could beat her too
her teacher mistook dandruff, set her in the hall
the other children laughed . . . wouldn’t let her play ball
Ma held her 'neath water, she’d gasp,
knew each breath could be her last.
afraid to tell a soul, she dared not even cry
Momma, watching closely, gave signals via eyes
these people could be monsters wearing a disguise
they devoured the wicked . . . especially the spies
Ma often lost her temper
the little child would whimper
Ma thrust a nail through her foot, then gave her a hug
the child slept in a bed covered with red . . . bed bugs
they bathed just once a week cause water wasn’t cheap
Momma gave them underwear purchased by a creep
“Pull your dress up . . . let me see
those dainty little panties.”
accustomed to that life, she finally got married
but her hope for relief was tarnished and buried
she managed to survive this chauvinist man
using her abilities . . . as only she can
a history of misery
love is compensatory