A slap, a punch, a kick from you.
Something bloodied, battered and bruised.
Broken limbs, shattered dreams.
Such a shame it all seems.
The bruises and blood are harder to see,
when the punches are words delivered upon me.
Belittled and scared from years of neglect,
a soul slowly dies a social reject.
Physical assult can readily be seem,
Emotional assult no one can gleen.
Your exagerating about this great man,
Until they saw it up front and first hand.
Now that it is over to heal is the goal.
To some how find trust in this battered soul.
How is the question? The answer I do not know.
Only through touching others will the answer show.