"Close the door little one
You don’t need to hear this"

 "But why are they shouting?
Is it because I made a mess?"

 "No little man, never think that
Mommy and daddy are just being bad"

 "But I don’t like it when they get loud
I really do try not to make them mad"

 "They are just having a bad ugly day
Just like those tantrums that you throw"

 "Will they feel better after a nap?
Will I be that loud too when I grow?"

 Those questions come rushing back
As he heard the raised voices get louder

 A daily routine, back and forth
He sat in a corner counting the hour

 And every time behind closed doors
He could make out every single thud

 Every time she walked out, his suspicions
confirmed when he saw the blood

 His little fists would go white with rage
With defiant eyes he’d look at his dad

 Bound by chains he couldn’t raise his voice
But every fiber in his being wished he had

 Another day, another bruise
Again and again on repeat

 While the little boy soaked up his anger
Knowing revenge would be sweet

 His 16th birthday ended in a disaster
When he slapped her infront of his friends

 And so as a gift to his dad, he lifted the gun
Bathed in his blood, he was finally cleansed.

TJ Khan ©