My Poetry. The Punch Bag.

You broke me when I was a little boy,
Used me, abused me, like an old toy.
I looked into the air, wondering "Why me?"
No one would notice, no one could see.

Going to school with blackened eyes,
Always looking like I won second prize.
Friends would look, but no one wanted to know,
Just classed as a boy's life, trying to grow.

Deep inside my soul, crying for help,
Cowering in fear from the next skelp.
When things went wrong, you'd punch my face,
Make me see stars, travel through space.

One day, I hoped death would come my way,
Not from the pain, but from this constant day;
Take me from here, end my torment—
Heaven looks nice, but hell is bent.

To all you children, deadly scared,
A life of turmoil, where warmth is spared:
Look to an adult, get them to hear,
Live your life happily, and not in fear.


ABUSE: ZERO TOLERANCE

SKELP = SCOTTISH WORD FOR SLAP.

© William Sinclair Manson 2025