Survival

I am Mishty,

I am almost three.

My eyes are bruised,

I cannot see.

I live in constant fear,

I live in constant pain.

At times I feel,

Even survival is a strain.

My nights are lonely,

My body is bare.

I shout out to my mommy,

But she doesn't care.

The basement is cold,

My cuts are bleeding.

These scars on my body,

These knives hear no pleading.

I better run,

I better hide.

Mommy and daddy are arguing about,

How to kill me tonight.

I am Mishty;

Today I am three!

But I may not live,

To see another three.