A poem about a little girl in London I once read poetry with

You watch as she hisses, swearing maliciously 
her spitefulness spits like acid rain.

“You’re a stalker” she shrieks
To a boy, two years her junior.

“You’re a slut” he squeals 
He throws his shoe to show he means business
And the threadbare string lace 
Makes a ring on her tiny, delicate face

She starts to cry but the tears sting the swelling 
And her knuckles only make the feeling worse

She’s rocking backwards and forwards
Forwards and backwards. With her coat 
Hanging off her shoulders, to reveal 
A raw red line.

She squawks out again, 
Wailing her choleric words. 
Heaving smut, sucking on vicious venom. 
Writhing and squirming, her body aching with anger, 
She hurls herself at the floor. The antagonist 
Can’t take anymore, “dumbass bitch”.

Three hours later she sits alone, 
Weeping softly, quietly. 
As little drops of water leak from her deep puddle eyes. 
You watch as she curls her tiny fingers around the edge of a blanket. 
She clings onto the dirty fluff 
As she waits to be picked up. 
It itches.
It is quiet and she is alone.

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