abuse poems

TO BE A REAL MAN

Here I am,
child of ten,
thrashed until,
I can barely stand,
told not,
to cry,
to suck it up,
again and again,
taught to be,
a real man,
beaten,
because she can,
here I am,
an angry,
violent man,
broken,
by my mother’s hand.
************
A test post from my mobile. I hope it works.

Walking Talking Christmas Tree

WALKING TALKING CHRISTMAS TREE

In his eyes,
she sees a feed,
a walking talking,
Christmas tree,
all he wants,
is an hour,
or two or three,
to do anything,
he please,
in front of a camera,
so for a fee,
others can watch,
an innocent bleed,
for a pile of dough,
that makes her eyes glow,
he takes the baby,
her in tow,
to the hotel,
down the road,
past the beggars,
and the whores,
turns on the camera,
shuts the door,
while she tells another,
for the same amount,
when the 10yr old comes out,
he too can have a go

********
I wrote this in reaction to new story (link below) but I know this applies all over the world.
http://www.islandsbusiness.com/news/index_dynamic/containerNameToReplace=MiddleMiddle/focusModuleID=130/focusContentID=26662/tableName=mediaRelease/overideSkinName=newsArticle-full.tpl