Carefully he picked up the brush
Like a clown he painted over and over
Carefully he sewed bits of cloth on his shirt
Making the sleeves longer and longer
Scars like worms and leeches he tried so hard to hide
Scars that sucked the life from him deep down inside
Each day his age grew but his body remained
Forever bearing the scars moulded into him
Never ever healing with time
Or be fully covered up when he tried to hide
In a crowd she would be nice
The best mother, not a single flaw
In the home she would be like a devil
And he be a slave to his own mother
It was not always about having to take out the trash
That made him suffer and she look mad
But that she ironed him like a shirt
And fed him dog’s waste to cure his hunger or thirst
She found such peace in the night
As she threw him down to the basement to sleep tight
Every time he cried for her to stop
She would take the sand and rub on his eyes
Until they dried out
When school teachers asked about the bruises and scars
She lied and said, “You know how the boys like to be rough.”
It was not long till her time came to an end
That others came quick to help him
Before she could give another command
Most butterflies manage to blossom and fly
This one had an error
This one barely survived