poems about child abuse

If you were me

 If you were me

Where would you be?

Would you be happy?

Or have a family?

 

If you were me

Would you sleep easily?

 And not have bad dreams?

Or flinch every time the floorboards creak?

 

If you were me

would you trust people easily?

Would you make friends quickly?

Or would you treat everyone suspiciously?

 

If you were me,

Would you forgive me

For stealing your virginity

Before you turned fifteen?           

 

If you were me

Would you hate me?

Would you run away constantly?

And would you refuse to call me mummy?

 

 

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Whisper

Whisper in my ear

all your fears

whisper in my ear

the reason for those unshed tears

whisper in my ear

Is it someone we hold dear?

whisper in my ear

Are they near?

whisper please whisper in my ear

whisper

when I am near

whisper

because I hold you so very dear

whisper

so our hearts can stop their tears

whisper

so I can take you somewhere where you no longer fear

whisper my child whisper in my ear

A woman’s greatest anguish

Infidelity not a woman’s greatest anguish,
Hurting an innocent which was hers to keep,
Will bring her crashing to her knees,
Rage a creature forming within,
Madness oozing through cracks on her skin,
Caused by the lava like pain within,
Pricks of pain rip holes through soul and brain,
Hate streaming through her veins like a runaway train,
Torture, once never in her wildest dreams,
Dances in the brain like puppet on strings,
Even with the devil slain,
Pieces of the innocent she must collect and glue together again.

Forgive Me

I wrote this after hearing details of a court case in which a father who angry with his son  for not doing what he was told. Tied him up and beat him for a whole day then finally he cut the child with a bushfire across the belly. Only then was the father satisfied and the mother was allowed to approach the child and rush him to the hospital but it was too late.

During this time the mother watched in terror. Fear of her husband overriding all maternal instincts. I as a mother I can only imagine what was going through her mind, body and soul during and afterwards.

I am not an angel.  I work everyday to stop my habit formed by what my culture has brought me up to believe that using the rod to discpline the child is good for the child.  I will keep trying for as long as I live.

In the name of discipline

 

In the name of discipline

From curtain rod holders,

a six-year old swings,

On a chair a policeman sits,

shaking his head in disbelief,

He moves away to stop the itch,

to untie the baby hanging from two strings,

sand-filled buckets weighing down his feet,

bruises covering every inch,

ribs jutting out through his skin,

The neighbor says, “I had to ring,

when the child was nowhere to be seen

don’t know where his daddy’s been.”

Cop walks out taking his momma in,

She explains, “he always been a difficult kid,

so I was only giving him some discipline.”

iyabara©2010

Children are a gift from God!  They should be loved and cherished .