A Wrinkle in Cake

His wrinkles glisten in the moon light
he snuck into the kitchen to steal a bite
the sweet cake sits on the table
ready but unwilling to satisfy his sweet tooth
it tries to move but its glued
not much places a cake can run to
with limbs so short their invisible
how can it get away
it has no choice but to stay
it waits and watches
as the old man touches
the cake knows it's time
to open up and give it up
the cake has no hope
no chance to struggle for survival
the poor cake lets the old man nibble
what choice does it have but to give a little
it's sweetness now corrupt and used
it's no good for the publics use
how will the cake go on
it's broken and torn
with no more goods inside

As a child

Dismembered on the inside

smiling on the outside.

I still hear my cries

from when my father hit my mom.

The slap still echos

through the valleys of my mind.

The first act of violence

I've ever been scared of.

As a child of nine

dealing with the pain

of losing a father

who never cared

being reminded

your just like him

they turn their back

and say bad things.

Does this mean

I'm as bad as him?

As a child of ten I had no way

to deal with the pain.

Going against my family

and going insane.

Acting like an angel

with good grades.

While lying to my mother

and going to a club.

Having a boyfriend

and going to his house.

As a child of eleven

I discovered sharp objects.

Feelings tearing away

from the inside out.

Taking the razor

and dragging it

across my wrist.

They took away the pain

of being me.

As a child of twelve

I discovered hot metal objects.

Placing them against my skin

feeling the tear down my cheek.

The discolored skin

of being burned

by a flat iron.

It eliminated the pain.

As a teen of fourteen

I discovered my mother was a liar.

She promised never to get married.

She doesn't even love him.

Yet here I am

being torn away

from my mother

and left with my grandmother

like a piece of luggage.

She didn't even care.

I continued with my escapes.

As a teen of fifteen

I discovered something

I don't very much like

my family.

No one noticed

when I started to change.

The black pants and shirts.

The sudden want of darkness and cold.

Long sleeves in the middle of summer.

No skin shown when it's 100 degrees.

No one ever noticed

how much pain I hid.

No one ever cared

to undo the mask

that hid my pain.

No one ever cared

enough to make me change.

So I lie here in my grave.

At the age of sixteen

because I discovered

I never meant a thing.

Excuse the sarcasm.

Does it look like I need your help?

I'm perfectly fine

these tears won't stain.

What tears you ask,

oh the tears that hide beneath my skin.

They slither down when they think no bodies looking

It's fine

It doesn't hurt a bit

I'm used to it.

They come out when my hearts alone

because no one can see it.

You see it's broken and torn

missing pieces oh and how big the hole is.

I don't need your help

It's fine it doesn't hurt

it helps if you keep it bottled up

it helps if you alienate your self.