She stood with her back To the white, wooden door. Barely blocking out the voices, The screams of a broken soul, Barely two floors below.
She gazed down at her hands, Covered in blood, Her skin matted with scars, The result of what one would call, Tough love.
She took one step further, As she looked down to the meadow beyond. The pale pink roses, Beckoning her to join them. To be with with each other.
She glanced back at the shards of glass, Peaking out from under her bed, Remembering how easy it was to hurt herself, Rather than open up, To the unknown and call for help.
One more step, And then another. The shouts were getting closer and louder, Reminder her of all the times she would suffer, From the anger of her drunkard father.
But she shook her head, Thoughts of pain long forgotten. As she smiled with true peace on her face, And took her final step, Through the window to freedom.
Juxt another victim, memories already gone. Just an article in a newspaper, Or part of a report on the TV screen. Just a faded memory of a young girls story, That has started to rotten.
If you see someone fighting, Don't ignore their whispers for help. Don't let another fall in the abyss of hopelessness, Lift them up and be stay with them, Step by step.
By Shamiah James Blugh Window to Freedom Created and published on Wednesday, June 9th, 2021 Edited and published again on Friday, June 25th, 2021
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