Wed, 04/20/2022 - 12:26 -- A_pple

I walk across the street,

It’s not even dark.

Yet he comes closer, and closer,

He looks 30 and drunk.

I’m 13 and small.

Who will they blame?

The drunk who is stronger.

No, no, they won’t

They will blame the girl for living.

They blame … 

Me, along with her and the next.

Because they’d rather defend a piece of shit of a MAN,

Instead of my future. And a little girl’s dream.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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