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Rated: · Poetry · Family · #1757736
My brother has a temper and our mother was its victim most of the time.
Whenever it rains,
I run from the house.
I tiptoe through puddles
as quick as a mouse.

The sky is black
and the rain is warm,
but my heart is still cold
in the places it's torn.

I sit on the porch
as my skin falls apart
through the sheets of sky tears
that pour down from the stars.

My ears are breaking
with every shout from my brother
and I pray the rain continues,
so I won't hear another.

Guilt is what I feel
when she's in there all alone,
forced to use such angry words
and fight him on her own.

But I can't intervene.
I can't do anything.
So, I press my hands to my ears
and forget everything...
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