Mark's Poem Archive - 15. A Memory

I sit in a pushchair, it is my cage

All around me I see only rage

It’s my entire fault, I am to blame,

Why did they even give me a name?

My name is Mark, not slug or sin,

Should I really be in the bin?

It’s what she wanted after all

I was just a white slime ball.

The harness held me so secure

It cut my skin, and made me sore

With bandaged hands, I sat and cried

I was good, I really tried

A devil child, was what they said

A six fingered freak that should be dead

That was her proof, I was Satan’s seed

All her cronies condoned and agreed.

I would never know kindness, love or respect

I only knew beatings, pain and neglect

Now grown up, I fight so hard

My mind and body badly scarred

To show my face, accept a hug, a kiss

It’s so hard, I’ve never done this

So help me please I beg of you

Just give me time, it’s all so new.