Your ritual beatings
are an unholy crime,
But my punishment will be cured by time.
The first fist’s force sends me sprawling,
For a mother’s intercession I begin calling.
Brother remains helpless at the top of the stair,
And blood stains the skirt of the dress that I wear.
I’m picked up and dealt a second crushing blow,
My head fills with vengeance you will never know.
A third painful smack find me dead on the wood,
While I feel my mouth filling with an ocean of blood.
I’m swept up and feel myself being carried
To my bed, when I know I should have been buried.
Brother comes sneaking while I remain seething in
Humiliation at feeling I just let you win.
