Bad News

When I was seven,
I knew he was bad news,
The one my Mother did choose.

I didn’t know why,
Never comfortable around the guy.

He’s your new Dad,
Try not to make him mad.
He’ll take care of us,
Give us a comfortable life,
And one day make me his wife.
“Now go and let him tuck you into bed,”
Mother said.
But, something didn’t feel right,
Because that night he held on too tight.
He forced his unwanted kisses,
Killing my sweet, innocent bedtime wishes.
Yes, he was bad news,
The one my Mother did choose.

 

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