Quick check for dirty spots
Another quick mop
Must make sure the toothbrushes are in their assigned spots
he’s on the dot
TICK TICK K-A-B-O-O-M
I… forgot to clean the clock
When you meet her you would never know from her beaming face that she has been through hell and is still clawing her way out of it.
She can neither read or write and but is fortunate to have a job as a labourer. With this job as well as selling betelnut after work she manages to make ends meet and support her children.
She has an ex who won’t let go and prefers to sweet talk her into coming back with anything he can get his hands on. Its been years of constant physical, mental and verbal abuse.
She has taken out restraining orders but her ex does not adhere to them.
Recently he jabbed her in the thigh with a knife it would had been deeper had she not been standing behind a door forcing it to close while he swung wildly at her
I don’t know how to help her. Relocating her I think is not an option because she can not read or write and finding a job would be extremely difficult and I do not have the means to support her. We do not have welfare benefits in PNG so it seems like a dead end.
She had him arrested but is under immense pressure from his wantoks (relatives) to drop the charges and do away with the restraining orders.
I am moving to town in several days and I am very worried about her.
She lives in fear.
I feel like crap but don’t how else to help her.
Sometimes I think it would be better if I did not care. If I looked the other way. But I can’t so how the frig do I get rid of the guilt? The feeling of being useless and what do I do?
Sometimes life is so #$%&*.
Far away eyes,
to the ordinary eye,
safer than reality,
where we can’t be
worlds that hold,
‘For you I will’
There are several ways to lose loved ones to Domestic Violence.
I have written about one friend. This is another.
BEFORE YOU WALK OUT THE DOOR
On quivering legs,
she reaches the door,
frantic to escape,
the man that snores,
she stretches up,
trying so hard,
for those few inches more,
between her legs,
an aching bleeding sore,
she peeks over the windowsill,
to her picture perfect home,
desperate for that familiar,
yearning for the voice,
that will restore her world,
until the next time,
her mummy needs to go,
to the store
Take a glimpse at this painting I named my life,
Daubs of memories are splattered far and wide,
They show a picture of my reasons why,
So with words I paint,
With my weapon slash brush in my hand,
My mighty and trusty pen,
I’ll paint until my hands crinkle and bend,
I will paint until someone stands up in our broken land,
Until the cycle of violence ends,
Until the broken can be helped to mend,
Until the silenced no longer startle at the slight of hand,
Until the cowardly are disgraced and shamed,
I paint in black and shades of gray,
And pack the vivid crisp colors away,
So all will know my country is not okay