We are the real people who need people
We hate loneliness
We want to trust
Hit to much
Words
Fist
Humans that harmed us continue
People refuse to see our abuse
SCRAPGOATS are unwilling/handy victims
Why is it easier for humans to believe a lie then the truth in front of their noses?
The only proof of our abuse
Our deaths
Like the old poem
On my grandma’s fridge
Give no flowers
At my death
Spent time not money
Not exact words
But this is a poem
Poems feel