She was only four,
When she came walking through my door.
She was the cutest sweetest little girl.
She came from a broken world.
She said when her daddy got mad,
would put his hand up her skirt.
Until it hurt,
I deserved to be hurt.
That I was to blame,
I felt my daddy’s hurtful shame.
I felt it until it burned.
At an early age,
That my dad had a hidden rage,
I was in his private cage.
My heart fell to the floor.
I never know what a child is going to say when they walk through my door.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
By, Patricia Kriegel-Kelley
Comments about this poem (Her Story by Patricia Kelley )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(20 June 1952 -)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(27 March 1926 – 25 July 1966)
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