By Rose Botts
In order for me to make peace with my past,
I have to take an honest look at myself, I'll try to be fast.
Though I thank you for giving me the right tools,
I have to shun you for the wrong ones, the ones that made us look like fools.
As bits of my innocence began to unfold,
I truly hope you take responsibility for a story untold.
The perverse pornography swimming throughout the house,
The whispers of adultery told to me by a mouse.
The arguments of sexual immorality that raged down the hall,
The beatings that took place heard through the walls.
The permeating smell of dope and alcohol that lingered in the air,
Pretending we were all fine outside the house, common but unfair.
This story is familiar, I have heard it all before,
From strangers, to friends and loved ones I adore.
Add a death of a mother to the story,
Or for some the tale is even more gory.
This generation the shattered innocence has stolen our youth,
Something over looked so long but this is the truth.
Copyright � 2oo1 by Rose Botts
