written by: Kia Jones
I hold my breath, my eyes are shut, I can’t even really cry,
There’s not a lot that I can do, I’m probably going to die.
The smashing glass, the shouting screams,
All far to real to be a dream, I’m probably going to die.
My mother’s cries, my father’s rage, the darkness falls around,
The only thing this evil does is amplify the sound.
The babies wake, they come to me, in the corner of the room,
“Hush now kids I promise you, this will all be over real soon”.
I hear my name, my heart stops dead,
is their fight really all about me?
If only I was brave enough to creep downstairs and see.
I hug them tight, we listen to the fight,
But we have to be as quiet as we can,
I have to get us out of here, I have to make a plan!
If I was big I could sort this mess with a bullet and a gun,
But we were small and all we had was the ability to run.
The door it slammed the screaming stopped,
I had ringing in my ears,
It’s time to move, it’s time to check, it’s time to face my fears.
The car drove off, the night was still,
I listened for any sounds,
When nothing I heard, I crept downstairs to have a quick look around.
My mum was there staring silently, at the broken glass on the floor,
She looked at me with a face that said,
“I can’t take this anymore”
Mum, I cried, we have to go and start up somewhere new,
But grown-ups never listen, to a child’s point of view.