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Literature Text
Daddy, please don't touch me.
It doesn't feel good.
It makes me feel..
Naughty.
Daddy, please don't hit me.
I didn't mean to disappoint you.
When you hit me, it makes me feel...
Bad.
Daddy, please don't hurt her.
Mommy didn't do anything.
When you hit her, it makes me feel..
Mad.
Daddy, please don't say you love me.
I know you're lying.
When you say you still want me, it makes me feel...
Sad.
Daddy, please stop screaming at her.
You already killed her.
When you scream at her, it makes me feel..
Angry.
Daddy, stay there.
Let me sink the knife into your throat.
When you bleed, it makes me feel..
Alive.
Daddy, aren't you happy now?
As you lie there, lifeless.
I'm only following your footsteps.
This makes me feel...
Happy.
Daddy, please listen.
I know you can't hear me, but...
I still love you.
The same way you always loved me.
And it makes me feel...
Good, Daddy.
It makes me feel..
Good.
It doesn't feel good.
It makes me feel..
Naughty.
Daddy, please don't hit me.
I didn't mean to disappoint you.
When you hit me, it makes me feel...
Bad.
Daddy, please don't hurt her.
Mommy didn't do anything.
When you hit her, it makes me feel..
Mad.
Daddy, please don't say you love me.
I know you're lying.
When you say you still want me, it makes me feel...
Sad.
Daddy, please stop screaming at her.
You already killed her.
When you scream at her, it makes me feel..
Angry.
Daddy, stay there.
Let me sink the knife into your throat.
When you bleed, it makes me feel..
Alive.
Daddy, aren't you happy now?
As you lie there, lifeless.
I'm only following your footsteps.
This makes me feel...
Happy.
Daddy, please listen.
I know you can't hear me, but...
I still love you.
The same way you always loved me.
And it makes me feel...
Good, Daddy.
It makes me feel..
Good.
Literature
You Don't Know Your Daughter At All
Just because she is no longer in a cradle
Does not mean that your baby wont fall
And if you think that her smile means she is happy
Then you don’t know your daughter at all
On arriving home from school she runs up the stairs
And locks herself away in her room
It’s so easy to think that it’s just teenage angst
That will pass in time and be gone soon
Perhaps you assume that it is just boy trouble
A romance that will soon be forgot
Yes, maybe her problems are just a passing phase
But then again what if they are not
What if they’re deep rooted in the parental soil
That you’ve been failing to cultivate
As she grow
Literature
Daddy
Daddy,
aren't you proud of me?
Haven't I done enough Daddy?
Am I not your little girl?
Daddy,
I'm sorry I'm not perfect,
but can you please come back?
I promise I'll do better.
I promise I can be perfect.
Daddy,
Don't you love me?
Look I drew you a picture,
will you come home now?
Daddy?
Where did you go?
Please come back.
Mommy says you don't care anymore
but I know it's not true.
It can't be true.
Daddy,
You don't even call anymore.
You said you loved me
and that I was your princess,
then why aren't you here?
Daddy,
Please come home.
I want my Daddy back.
Literature
R.I.P.
Did anyone notice that she winced if you raised your arm?
Did anyone notice that her eyes were wide with alarm?
Did anyone notice that she never looked you in the eye?
Did anyone notice that her voice was but a sigh?
Did anyone notice that her skin was always bruised?
Did anyone question whether she might be abused?
Did anyone question why she walked in obvious fear?
Did anyone question why one day she did not appear?
Did anyone recognize her face on the six-o’clock news?
Did anyone see her remains pulled from the river refuse?
Did anyone care that this quiet girl no longer exists?
No. No one did. And she will never even be missed.
R.I
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I don't really like this one. But I decided to post it since it's one of my poems that ISN'T about labels or stereotypes 
Comments and critiques?
Comments and critiques?
© 2013 - 2024 MikkiMarie
Comments53
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactThis poem is a concetration of pure emotion. There are many out there that will find a connection between your writing and how they really feel. It shows the simplicity but complex nature of a child, or even a grown person's inner child. The repition gives it emphasis, and there is no possible way to read this without feeling at least the slightest of tugs to the hearststrings. (Even grumpy cat would feel something from this, even without admitting it) The way it sounds just reading it, in a child's voice, just makes it impossible to stop reading and leaving the reader to think quite truthfully.