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 Dec 2011 Shiloh Morrison
Julia
Screaming threats across the kitchen,
teardrops falling on the floor.
Children hiding in the corner,
attempting to escape the war.
When the neighbors hear the yelling,
the police knock at the door.
They demand an explanation,
but they get one nevermore.
My friends and teachers are concerned,
it shakes them to the core.
I excuse his reckless behavior,
but I can't do this anymore.
 Dec 2011 Shiloh Morrison
Julia
Broken promises and broken bones;
Makeup to cover her scars.
He beats her, yet she won't accept the fact
That only leaving will keep her in tact.

He'll hit her, then confess his love.
She'll fall for him all over again.
Every time she's bruised and battered,
He doesn't mind that her heart's been shattered.

She can make excuses for him,
And she'll continue in doing so.
They will be to no avail...
The bruises tell a different tale.
I want to sleep forever and reside in my dreams
           To frolic through a collage of different spectacles and scenes
                An escape from the insufferable, cruel world at large
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever so I can live in my dreams
           The ruler of the lands, the queen of all kings
               With nothing to fear but the darkside of the conscience
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever and fight my inner demons
        Provide peace of mind for all bothered and exhausted
              Float on utter bliss; those monsters, I'll never miss
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever and never show sadness again
        Bright, long-lasting smiles on weekly sullen days
             Created and maintained in a variety of ways
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever to erase everything
       I want to sleep forever and feel warmth again
           To bathe myself in content that won't ever end
Let me sleep forever
A blood donor clinic.

The smell of all the blood in the air makes me sick.
It brings me back to the time,
where blood flowed freely down my arms;
when blood stained the wristbands that I wore,
to try to hide my pain from the rest of the world,
because I told myself I would never be as stupid as any of them.

But I was.

The smell makes me so dizzy,
the floor comes up to swallow me whole,
but I have the common sense to run.

Far away.

I run to the bathroom,
and all I can feel is the shuddering of my body
as I'm huddled in a corner;
being bombarded by images of a darker time;
images of my Crimson Decision.

I will never forget that day.
I thought I was going to give up on everything,
because everything had given up on me.
I'm glad it didn't turn out that way,
I'm glad I had the common sense to stop.

There's no way I'm letting the world have the satisfaction of seeing me like this.

But every once in a while,
I fall back into my crimson state;
where my body shudders and shakes,
and my mind falls inwards,
dragging my feelings to one central point,
where hell is begging for my soul.

A blood donor clinic.

The smell of all the blood in the air makes me sick.
I could bleed you a pint faster than that puny needle could get,
but I have the common sense,
to re-think my Crimson Decision.
 Aug 2011 Shiloh Morrison
ju
Mam, from the September following Child’s 5th birthday I no longer consider you fit to raise him.
For six hours a day, five-days-a-week-term-time-only Teacher can help.
Unfortunately Teacher takes time off. She needs a break from your little monster-
so during the holiday she gives Child back. Try not to undo the good work that’s been done.
(…Won’t you?…)
If you want to bother Teacher with (daft) questions go ahead.
She’ll rearrange her face into a listening position- And respond with jargon designed to make you feel thick.
Concerns?
Child often exaggerates.
O, I see. 2 adults, 30 children and a bundle of paperwork?
She’s qualified. You’re not.
(…are you? Thought not. And you don’t live in Big House or sound T’s and H’s… So where were we?…)
Nightmares? Bruises? Cuts, scrapes, a black-eye? Low self esteem?
(…so you’re a psychologist now?…)
Child cries? Is unhappy in class?
His fault.
Or yours! Don’t worry. Teacher keeps her eyes open for signs of trouble at home.
Child skips school? Down to you.
(…There will be various consequences, of course. And implications……c-o-n…s-e-qu-e…nce-s…,….i-m-p…l-i-c…a-t…i-on-s… It’s been made clear already: You’re not fit to raise him…)
Pressured? Bored? Judged and ignored? Humiliated? Belittled? Frustrated?
It will lead to what, exactly?
O, when he leaves School! For just a moment there
I was worried.
No, no. Not a problem. Not a problem at all.
Maybe he’ll run with a bad crowd, break a few laws, end up in the gutter?
Yes. Maybe.
But it’s out of my hands.
i-predict-a...

I'm a fan of trauma informed practice, unfortunately zero-tolerance is all the rage. Zero-tolerance is a means to keeping grades up in "good" schools. It's passing the buck, and it's a **** way to treat kids who've been through hell already.
 Aug 2011 Shiloh Morrison
Sea
Guess
 Aug 2011 Shiloh Morrison
Sea
what did I ever do to you?

Guess you’re just a past,

from high school and the boys,

forget me and the rest.

Every new one says

“How could he do that to you?

You’re amazing, you’re great, you’re the best”

but they do the same as the last.

Someone out there who will handle my neuroses?

My jealousy, my protective, my

distrust and inability of sleeping?

For now I’ll slip into a sun-soaked summer coma

I’ll forget you and remember alcoholic nights

puffing sweet-scented smoke into clear air;

Fine with me if you don’t want to see

pink cheeks and light brown hair.
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