You see that girl? The plain Jane?
The girl in the old sweater vest and shoes out of date?
Eating a tuna fish sandwich out of a paper bag –
She holds her books close to her chest for dear life.
No one wants to look at her directly; sit with her at lunch.
No one wants to talk to her; she’s probably no fun.
She never talks about makeup, boys, or even her weekend,
A seldom few actually know her name, but most just call her,
Shy Girl …
… Her father wandering into her room after a night at the bar,
Preying on whatever life lied inside like an apparition.
The innocence dropped to a heavy disposition,
Forcing her to the floor in any position.
The walls were thick and the night was late,
Forcing off her jeans –
“Daddy stop!” She thought, but the words couldn’t escape.
He kept touching and touching her despite it,
It seemed the more she struggled the more he liked it.
Wet her pants and sweated the more she tried to fight it.
For years she tried to hide it…
For years it went unnoticed until those routine doctor’s exams.
Revealing that the scars on her waist were not caused by her own hand,
It took a while for her to tell, but she confessed it.
Contacted child services; her father was arrested.
As they took him away she looked into his teary eyes,
Resting her head in her mother’s tear-soaked sweater,
She lifted her to those starry night skies,
Just wishing the nights would get better. But it didn’t.
For months she would wake up screaming,
Plagued by nightmares of what she had been dreaming.
Her mother remarried and she felt a burden lifted.
A great and caring stepfather,
All the things he taught her and bought her,
And she told herself not to ruin this relationship.
She felt anxious and hurt.
He saw her come home one day from school without saying a word.
He followed her upstairs and sat at the bedside
“I hate myself,” she cried.
“Nobody likes me, I’m weird and shy,
Everybody prejudges me and I don’t know why”.
He comforted her and touched her forehead.
“You’re smart and they can’t stand that,” he said…
He comforted her and playfully pushed her
“You’re resilient and they can’t understand that,” he said…
He comforted her and handed her his handkerchief
“You’re beautiful in so many ways and they won’t understand that,” he said…
It’s the way society is: attack in packs,
Society always tries to drive that wedge –
Trying to push you over the edge.
They’ll try to label you, disable you, tame you, and frame you.
You’re not the first; they have crucified and silenced many a voice –
Molested, beaten, and mistreated many a voice.
But this is your life and your choice,
And no one can take that away from you.
Not your father.
Not those hateful kids.
Not me.
Not society.
The ones who outcast you will never outlast you.
It may take some pondering until you truly discover your throne…
And some wandering until you truly make your way home.
He grabbed her hand, and held her close.
Her tears streamed on to his old fleece coat.
She smiled and said, “I truly am home” …
You see that girl? The plain Jane?
The girl in the old sweater vest and shoes out of date?
Eating a tuna fish sandwich out of a paper bag –
She holds her books close to her chest for dear life.
No one wants to look at her directly; sit with her at lunch.
No one wants to talk to her; she’s probably no fun.
She never talks about makeup, boys, or even her weekend,
A seldom few actually know her name, but most just call her,
Shy Girl …
Painfully Written by Fatal Dawn
The girl in the old sweater vest and shoes out of date?
Eating a tuna fish sandwich out of a paper bag –
She holds her books close to her chest for dear life.
No one wants to look at her directly; sit with her at lunch.
No one wants to talk to her; she’s probably no fun.
She never talks about makeup, boys, or even her weekend,
A seldom few actually know her name, but most just call her,
Shy Girl …
… Her father wandering into her room after a night at the bar,
Preying on whatever life lied inside like an apparition.
The innocence dropped to a heavy disposition,
Forcing her to the floor in any position.
The walls were thick and the night was late,
Forcing off her jeans –
“Daddy stop!” She thought, but the words couldn’t escape.
He kept touching and touching her despite it,
It seemed the more she struggled the more he liked it.
Wet her pants and sweated the more she tried to fight it.
For years she tried to hide it…
For years it went unnoticed until those routine doctor’s exams.
Revealing that the scars on her waist were not caused by her own hand,
It took a while for her to tell, but she confessed it.
Contacted child services; her father was arrested.
As they took him away she looked into his teary eyes,
Resting her head in her mother’s tear-soaked sweater,
She lifted her to those starry night skies,
Just wishing the nights would get better. But it didn’t.
For months she would wake up screaming,
Plagued by nightmares of what she had been dreaming.
Her mother remarried and she felt a burden lifted.
A great and caring stepfather,
All the things he taught her and bought her,
And she told herself not to ruin this relationship.
She felt anxious and hurt.
He saw her come home one day from school without saying a word.
He followed her upstairs and sat at the bedside
“I hate myself,” she cried.
“Nobody likes me, I’m weird and shy,
Everybody prejudges me and I don’t know why”.
He comforted her and touched her forehead.
“You’re smart and they can’t stand that,” he said…
He comforted her and playfully pushed her
“You’re resilient and they can’t understand that,” he said…
He comforted her and handed her his handkerchief
“You’re beautiful in so many ways and they won’t understand that,” he said…
It’s the way society is: attack in packs,
Society always tries to drive that wedge –
Trying to push you over the edge.
They’ll try to label you, disable you, tame you, and frame you.
You’re not the first; they have crucified and silenced many a voice –
Molested, beaten, and mistreated many a voice.
But this is your life and your choice,
And no one can take that away from you.
Not your father.
Not those hateful kids.
Not me.
Not society.
The ones who outcast you will never outlast you.
It may take some pondering until you truly discover your throne…
And some wandering until you truly make your way home.
He grabbed her hand, and held her close.
Her tears streamed on to his old fleece coat.
She smiled and said, “I truly am home” …
You see that girl? The plain Jane?
The girl in the old sweater vest and shoes out of date?
Eating a tuna fish sandwich out of a paper bag –
She holds her books close to her chest for dear life.
No one wants to look at her directly; sit with her at lunch.
No one wants to talk to her; she’s probably no fun.
She never talks about makeup, boys, or even her weekend,
A seldom few actually know her name, but most just call her,
Shy Girl …
Painfully Written by Fatal Dawn
