Battered
She wandered the streets unaware,
What she wear she doesn't care.
Her mind she left at home,
All the while, she's alone.
Passing by a mirror,
She stared with horror.
How much time has passed,
Since her hair was washed?
Her once rosy nails,
Scrubbed dirty pots and pails.
Her beautiful porcelain skin,
Aged, wrinkled with stain.
She looked older than her age,
A bird with lifetime on a cage.
Can we put the blame on her?
Or to the man who put this misery on her.
May 5, 2020
6:45AM
YOU ARE READING
100 Days || Poetry
Poetry2nd Place : The Pantheon Awards 2020 100 Days. 100 thoughts. 100 poems. Welcome to my newest collection of poems written based on what random things that comes into my mind. Be it pain, or happiness. Join me as I challenge myself to write from scra...
