Poppy

Black nail varnish,
                 It was her uproar,
   
She'd already turned black,              
                          Already had her downfall.

When she was far to young,
                    to understand the description

        "Poppy bruises and bleeding noses"

She'd seen it,
              To many times a thosand.

 When she was to young,
                   to even spell

         "Pain"
                She'd felt it,
From the depths of her broken heart.

           A heart that was never allowed to heal.

An image of herself,
                She was never allowed to be.

She'd tiptoe around her house in slippers
                 and wear pink t-shirts.

           Because pink was a happy colour,
       
           And her happiness,
                              meant he got it right.

when he was wrong
                WRONG WRONG WRONG!


. . . But they'd pretend he was right,
                                     because it made him happy.

           And that made them safe.

But it didn't work.
              who was she trying to kid?

                  He'd always slap,
                                     Kick,
            Scream assaults,
                 Like Bloody Blue Murder.

No amount of Pink paper Happiness,
                          would EVER make any difference.

So with Pink eyes,
                 Red Cheeks,
                            and poppy bruises.

       
        She painted her nails black.