Raising fists

A stroke of hand,
a bit too hard,
a bit too hard to please you
And spoken words,
a bit too raw,
a bit too raw to keep you calm



You start running away



You’re waiting still
for raising fists to meet you
in rip of lips and bleeding skin
Bleeding skin wont ever heal



Still running away



You’re waiting still for his
raising fists,
that raising fists will meet you
in rip of lips



You shield your mind
with twisted thoughts,
but twisted thoughts won’t hide you
Can’t cover fear with an attitude,
an attitude that suits you bad



So, run away



You’re waiting still for his
raising fists,
that raising fists will meet you
in rip of lips



You burn, but won’t cry, won’t bleed



You learn to share once again,
but once again it rips your face
in rip of tears,
It’s just fear,
but fear alone will keep you strong



You start to run away, again