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Ralph w Huber Apr 2017
She carries her burdens across the back of a child.
Rightfully hers to bear but her mind has gone wild.
Scarred  grows his mind afraid of life so uncertain.
But she couldn't switch the soul of the carrier of her burden.
A switch is a limb pulled from a tree
Kelsey Brewski Jul 2016
I am not a child,
I am not your child.
In fact, I am all grown up.

I am all grown up,
but I cannot forget my childhood
because of you.

I kiss girls,
not boys,
because I am afraid that they will hurt me,
(like the monster you are) like you did.

I cover up,
extra clothes,
because I rarely wore clothes as a child
and you would peer at me through
the crack in the bathroom wall.

I don't sing with the birds.
I don't hug my teddy bear.
I don't leave the house.
I am terrified you are out there,
hunting for me like I am your prey.

But I am not a child,
I am all grown up,
and I can beat you up.

I am not a child,
and I will not call you "My Daddy"
and I will not let you call me "Baby".

I am not a child,
and I will not let you touch me.
I am gold, I am radiant, I am light.
And you will not ruin that,
ever, ever, ever again.
© Kelsey Austere, 2016
Kelsey Brewski Jul 2016
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I told you I sleep with my stuffed animals (mostly to keep me company).

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you saw me bare-faced & naked (I don't like clothes).

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you touched me in places even God Almighty wouldn't dare to look at.

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I sang with the birds and played in the mud, losing my voice and getting my dainty dress and Mary Jane's as ***** as I can.

I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I asked you, timidly, if I could sleep with you because I was afraid of the monsters in my closet and the monsters in the walls.

I am a child in your eyes,
even if I am not a child, even if I am not your child.

I am a child in your eyes,
and you, the real monster, use that against me, especially when the town is asleep and the moon is hidden and my teddy bear is missing and I scream, "No, please, not tonight."
© Kelsey Austere, 2016
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
This is a fictional account, but based
On truth for many women. I was,
Myself, abused by an ex-boyfriend.


Here's the ballad of Hammer Hand,
I'm here to spread it 'cross the land.
He loved to hit, as you can see.
What he hit was mainly me.
He was a brawler in the day,
But I left him where he lay.

This is for you gals out there
Who are hopeless, in despair,
Who are battered, made to kneel,
I do this so we both can heal.

I was kicked upside the head,
But now ol' Hammer Hand is dead.

Hammer Hand, oh Hammer Hand,
Did beating me make you a man?
I have suffered your attack,
You have made me blue on black,
Your heart was black, my soul was blue,
Your soul was false, my heart was true.


Hammer Hand was tall and lean,
He was big, and ha was mean,
He would snack and he would punch,
Then he would demand his lunch.
He used to hit me when he drank,
His breath was fetid, his body rank,
Whenever help I'd try to seek.
He would hit me into next week.


Hammer Hand is dead today
And this is what I have to say,
I told him when he broke my teeth,
He would pay and come to grief!
Satan himself will take you down,
And you'll be six feet underground.

~~ CHORUS ~~

I'm a woman so you're bold,
But Hammer Hand, you're getting old,
Hammer Hand you've had your fun,
But don't forget I have a SON.
You can make me black and blue,
But don't you go and  hit him, too!
Don't make him hate you, make him mean,
Soon he will be seventeen.

You said a thing which I believe,
You said you'd **** me if I leave.
But me 'n Jamie gonna pack,
We're gonna leave and not come back.
When I die, at least I know,
Where I'm bound, which way I'll go!
Down inside you know as well,
You are goin' straight to hell.

Hammer Hand, O Hammer Hand,
Now we've left, are you so grand?
You won't hurt us anymore,
'Cause you're dead upon the floor.
I don't think that you'll survive,
Shot with your own 45,

It wasn't me, I'm not that brave...

T'was Jamie put you in the grave.

At sixteen he was pale and shy

But he put a slug between your eyes.

You made him beg. You made him bow.

Well. I hope you're happy now.

Catherine Jarvis
(C) June 11, 2011
I was abused by an ex-boyfriend.
I made him leave.
Threw all his stuff out.
He stalked me for one year.
Child abuse!
Child abuse!
What kind of a monster are you?

Children all over the world are being abused.
They are abused at home by their parents,
At school by their teachers,
And as they play with thier peers.
They suffer from the East, North, West and South.

What then should be done to make an end to this problem?
Parents, teacher and friends,
Lets all think about this problem,
Lets all try to make an end to it.

A little visit back into the hands of time, the first poem i ever knew and presented during the age of 9 on the year 2009 and i still remember it word for word.
SøułSurvivør May 2015


(c) 5/19/2015
Speaking out
child abuse

Graff1980 Dec 2014
She gnawed at his flesh
She clawed at his skin
To fulfill her filthy sin
And rage
All this displayed
All of her hate
He wore on his face
And in the evening
After the bleeding
Pass the bruising
Red marks
He’d sniff and snuffle
His body would crumble
With all of the despair in his heart
He was told to remember
As his will was dismembered
And his spirits were crushed to the ground
This was all your own doing
Even though she was stewing
No fault of hers will ever be found
Em or Finn May 2014
A little boy
Neat white shirt ironed to perfection
A monster truck plastered on the front
Denim jeans, fitting his skinny waist just right

He loves creating new things
Making plain old cardboard into the next best thing

He gets his crayons
Sharpies and all
And runs to his room
All excited on his new project, his new creation

One piece of cardboard after the other
Rectangles flying everywhere
Coloring what looks like door handles onto cardboard?
The vision isn’t clear, yet it will come together soon.

He works quickly
With a due date set in mind
Full of ambition
The vision isn’t clear, yet it will come together soon.

He finishes his new achievement
Smiling happily at his new jumble of handiwork
Glued together precisely
The vision isn’t clear, yet it will come together soon.

He attaches the different shapes to himself
Straps glued to the cardboard
It seems he’s wearing armor
With doorknobs and wood grain painted on it with pure artistry

He hears someone come in the front door
His smile turns to panic
He quickly cleans up the supplies
Throwing things around the room anywhere they fit

He runs to the corner of his room
He quickly pulls the “armor” close to him
As he sits in the fetal position
His armor becomes a small dresser that looks as if it was made for clothes

The father bursts into the room
With rage spelled out on his forehead
The boy hides brilliantly afraid of the wrath to come
The father looks around the room carefully

Come out Come out
Wherever you are
The next time I see you
I’ll give you more bruises than last week altogether

He closes the door with a loud slam
The boy unfolds his creation, a simple dresser
Who knew that a young boy’s imagination
Would protect him from all of the horror and pain usually unleashed on him

— The End —