My Wittle Poems

as Insecure As My moTheR, i wAit for the transPortation. i look Past thE tall man, who noticeD my sHattEREd ego. i can'T HElp but to cry - my motheR would bE just as easy to snap. I don't want to be like my mother, and Still i weep the same uNsatisfying tEarS. The man Coughs his cigArette's Puffs on my skin. thE tears mIx iNside The cHars of addIctionS, and my skin Boils at the thought of being touched by him again. 
I know his pLAns, he's bad at hiding siCKening proof of HOstiLE behavIor towarDs me and the Other miNors. only Tears to bathe Us, oNly tears to DrEss us, only teaRS To heAl our deep wouNDs. wounds from THe tall man's belt, the same belt that made my mother soft. Made her bIrth another child, aS weak as Her. 
my egO as Wounded as my mother, from the sCOlding and bUrns we've shareD. my lasT tHought diEs for the train is here. i hurrY onboarD befOre The tall man can say HIS goodbyes. I don'T want tO see the Mixture of fleM and black tEars on MY Skin AgaiN. I leave hasTilY, soon I'll be free of worrieS. 
i wipe the last of the DriEd tears and soot off my skin, promising myself a seCuRE future. the light coming from A window in the train iS my sIgN of chanGE. perVERted trauma melts into joY. i look on, as a survivor from DAd, and decide something for mYself for the first time - my future will be bright.