For the hurtful things you whisper
unknown that they are daggers
the things you truthfully say
not meaning the words dismay
for the children out there who swear
and fight off fears
yelling about there mothers and fathers
wanting new ones here.
Know they only love you,
they hold all your cares.
Carrying your darkest moments
with them, hearts frozen.
By the words you’ve choosen,
in those moments.
You are unaware of the danger and damage
you’re little voice causes us.
You do not know when you pick on our weight,
or ask why that photo cant be me...
Or stating so simply,
the phases you use to make me
break me.
For you are a child I did not birth
but one i helped raise,
you cut me with your phasing of
well that photo isnt you, you have too much make up on, your hair is too nice there,
you never wear a dress, you never really care.
But i care so deeply so much.
I care about how i look,
cause i’m so wounded from the words of a world
that has created children so young
so fragile.
who can turn us to muck.
In words spoken by a tiny voice,
but yelled by a media.

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