You expect her to be content because she's the best in the class.
You laugh at how dorky she looks
But you truly have no clue
The black eye and broken lips she has to hide.
Her mother drunk to the head when she goes home
And sometimes if she runs away, she finally breaks down in the cold.
YOU ARE READING
Misunderstood
PoetryYou could hear it all... The sweet rhythm she made with her violin The banging of the stick to the drums The sound that came were hiccups and screams What happened to them.
