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(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of sexual services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some lines simply should never be crossed, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are negatively affected at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too - so when a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they too would be confronted with what they have done, and who they have become)
Eno Sep 5
There’s 3 left now
To state their case
For past and present
They’re all happy to show their face
One more so than others
Gets up on a podium
And shouts
When everyone
Was already
Hard to let it in
Without the illusion of choice
A soliloquy
Of triumph
Should be spoken alone
You wonder
If modesty
Breeds honesty
Or the other way around
Or neither
Faith Jul 30
there is nothing poetic about you,
rather, something pathetic surrounds you.
I follow my passion, my emotions, my rhymes.
          And just like that
                  No more blank lines
Pride was the struggle
       I conquered it slowly
But it happened
“Shouting it from the rooftops.”
          It was meant to be my reward
     I wanted nothing more
They wanted more
I have nothing more

I was handed a mirror
        They demanded a snowflake
I have a heart
to tell to you
I brace my mind
and begin
I open up to
your mercy
I hold a gaze
into your eyes

All that you have to say is,
"But. . ."
Or, respond with,
"I. . ."

Are you at all
in a life but

I've met many modern
women and men
Sure as death it
seems you would
rather not share so
much as eagerly compete

Your words and terms
usher in necrosis
I am empathetic
to your plight, but
I have to give it back
and confidently ask,





I wish to give of all my self
to those that listen well
as I've been listening in for all my life
and I know your deepest prosperity
is yours to find and not mine,


it up
to you


To the friends I've never met.
It's important to me that I tell you, I've found that expectation
is not the same as setting standards and you're allowed
to distance yourself for health when you can't get through
to a person who wants to be around you.

There is a gentle way to let them down.
Don't make it all about their actions.
Be brave enough to explain how you feel.
If you see their eyes alight and soft.
You will know the love is good and real.

If not. . .

Freddie Ruiz May 23
I’m a man,
often hard to understand,
focused and devoted
with an insatiable desire to be noticed.

There’s so much love in the world going to waste.
There’s so much beauty going unnoticed.
There’s so much creativity being crushed by powerful opponents,
but there’s no justice in the system and the governments.

And I’ve looked inside the eyes of humanity and seen hopelessness.
And I’ve listened to the words of the powerless and heard helplessness.
And I’ve seen people searching for a way out of dreadfulness,
but it’s been useless.

Are you ready to live your dream?
Then you better be prepared to fight for what you believe in,
no matter how hard this system tries to destroy your integrity.
Are you ready to live your dream?
Who’s with me?
Written on September 7, 2016
Composition number: 559
katarina May 18
and suddenly
everything i wanted for you
comes true
but in the process
i gave up me
and now you have you
so there you are
you're happy, strong, independent.
but who am i now
after giving it all up for you
Arabella Apr 7
Guess what?

You are not the number of men who have touched you.
You are not the number of men who have kissed you.
You are not the number of men who have held you.
And you are surely not the number of men who have assaulted you.

Ditch the status quo.
Your body is still sacred.
For you are cosmic.
You will always be you.
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)
Ginny Webb Mar 29
These children saw the gruesome reality
Of classmates begging for their lives
On trembling knees,
Screaming for mommy and daddy.
After all, they were only in their teens.
Still babies that
Once a mother rocked to sleep.
Now, she has a box of pictures to keep
As if dry pieces of paper are ever enough
To hold, to hug against her chest,
To try to find a space to rest her love
When all she really wants is

Because that’s where her baby is.
Because she can see them now
Cowering under desks.
These children saw it all.
Friends from kindergarten
Now backed against a wall,
And slumping in a pool of blood
Brains splattered on the floor,
Last gasps of air in punctured lungs
Still dragging their bodies towards
A bullet ridden door.

And just like Hitler laughing
While children burned in Auschwitz
You mock them.
How dare you!

Making every excuse
Because you just can’t live without the
Cold piece of metal
Some politician tells you
Embodies more truth,
Than the bodies of real children
That, if you have any integrity at all,
Should be all you need for
If I were to forced to breathe my last breath now,
Your name alone would be carved on my lips.
Three words to you would be my final vow
And every former flame would be eclipsed.

But still, what fool could give her heart so fast -
For what? The sweet talk of a preacher’s son?
A fool yet wise to know it could not last -
For I’m as fickle as I’m quickly won!

So I must live and learn to love again -
Until the weight upon my heart can shift,
Until your sad grey eyes bring no more pain,
Until the curse of loving you will lift.

To steal a heart, my darling, is no crime -
I’m thankful that no man may steal my thyme.
A sonnet written after listening to the old folk song "Let no man steal your thyme", in which"thyme" is sometimes interpreted to mean integrity. Recently, for the first time in my life, I was willing compromise on something I never thought I ever would for love. Needless to say, it did not end well. On the plus side, I was very happy for a short time and I got a sonnet out of it.
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