Hate Poem

Why do people hurt the ones they "love"? My father is very abusive. He would control my every move, beat me if I did anything "wrong", or just because I remind him of the way my mom looked when she was my age. All it did was make me sad and angry, and I felt like I was about to blow. This poem describes exactly how I felt.

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This was... very psychotic. But I felt the same way once. However, the rage I felt was not because of abuse, but because I was a puppet in some woman's life. That woman was my mother. She...

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Prisioner Of Life

© Sabrina more by Sabrina

Published on June 2011

Sitting alone in the dark corner.
Knees against my chest, head in my hands.
Watching the tears run from eye to floor.
Happiness left my soul, now so dark and cold.
Life in my eye is no longer shown.
If only I could escape these chains and cuffs
And once again run from my thoughts.
I am a prisoner of life.
Contaminated by this strife.
With Death hanging by my side
Black tears were all I cried.
Anger was builtup in my blood
All the revenge is creating a flood.
These chains will one day break.
You is all I will seek.
Like a snake I will slither.
Once you sleep I will smother.
Look at me now, try to read my heart
All my love and joy is forever departed.
You shouldn't have locked me away.
To think I was once your little girl.
This is what you made me, sick and angry.
I am a prisoner of life.
Contaminated by this strife.
With death hanging by my side
Black tears were all I cried.
Anger was built in my blood,
This is what you made me.
Your fast asleep in your bed.
Your words echoing in my head.
This is my soul being unleashed.
In my pocket I reached,
Grabbed the knife you once tried
But unlike you, I will not fail.
A sharp pain opened your eyes.
You gave a look of surprise.
Look at me now daddy.
Aren't you happy?
During your last breath
I grabbed the key.
I am finally free.

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Has this poem touched you? Share your story!
  • by Anonymous, AN
  • 7 months ago

This was... very psychotic. But I felt the same way once. However, the rage I felt was not because of abuse, but because I was a puppet in some woman's life. That woman was my mother. She wanted to control my life entirely. Until I came out and said it, with a furious voice, eyes red with hate, anger and rage, my hands bleeding from my nails tearing my palm, my teeth cracking from all the force. "STOP TRYING TO CONTROL ME!", I said.
I told her to leave me be, control some of my life, but not all. I was still young to be completely independent, but I wanted to have some rights, to make some choices. I did not want a puppet master pulling the strings. From that day on, those words she would not forget. She still smiles, she still feels happy. But when she gets angry, she tells me I wanted to be free, so I shouldn't ask her for help. I never asked. I never even dreamed of asking for help. Then later she tells me I never let her help. Hypocrites and fools. Never again will I let them close.

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