Victims

This house is not a home,
Just a roof upon four walls.
A domicile of sticks and stones,
Shattered dreams,and broken bones.

Eggshells under weary feet,
Like broken toys upon the floor,
She don't know what she's done wrong yet,
She'll find out at ten past four.

The children feel the tension,
They know better than to cry.
They'll get more to cry about,
No bruises, there's no crime.

The child goes to the schoolyard,
Their social skills just ain't that great,
No self esteem, No confidence,
Always timid and afraid.

The other is the opposite,
Always driving to be feared,
Never showing weaknesses,
A bully among peers.

One seeks someone big and strong,
To protect them from the world.
The other seeks a weaker mate,
Upon them, abuse is hurled.

Will you break this cycle,
If the chance becomes yours to call?
Domestic silence feeds abuse,
Victims, aren't we all?