Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Vault Oct 2017
Everything was dry
The ground rock hard as my shovel dug
The leaves around me wilting from the heat
It hasn't rained for weeks
But still I scrapped at the ground
Making my hole bigger and bigger
I remembered how your hands would touch me
How you were fake when people were looking
How behind closed doors you were the monster
That everyone thought was make believe
From age six til now you were there
Turning everything I was into a nightmare.
I kept digging
You stunk beside me
A stink that would make people cringe
To me I was used to it.
My shovel scrapped loudly on rocks beside my blue house
Just big enough
The hole was
You fell in with a thump
But I knew no one would help you get out
As shovel upon shovel fell on you
I thought about how you would be remembered
With the last shovel full
I thought
You will be remembered as the man who went missing.
This is a make believe story/poem. It is a form of fantasy but I tried to make it seem real.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2016
We never really know
What happens in a person’s home.
We can’t really know
What happens when they’re alone.
It’s every block and street
Even from those we trust to lead.
Too often parents turn
And simply refuse to even heed.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.

Not one in a million
There are far too many suffering
Not one in a thousand
Even if parents don’t know a thing.
Not one in a hundred
That is only one small percent.
They are the victims
And they never gave their consent.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.

Many think it’s a seldom thing
Yet it is too large a fraction of the whole
Robbing the children of youth
And taking away the basis of their soul.
They don’t want to admit it
But if they care about them, they must
Because abusing children is
A vile way to steal from them their trust.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
It is one more night.
There is no light when you
Come in to do the things you do
Things that I don’t want to.
I don’t mean to taunt you
To encourage you to touch,
To touch my secret parts.
That makes me feel *****.
You say I act flirty and that’s why,
But it makes me cry.
I wish you won’t want to play
This awful game again today
That you will go play it
With Mommy.
Maybe she likes it.
I already know I won’t.
Daddy, please don’t.

Don’t get on your knees
Beside my bed and touch my head
And tell me I am pretty like a girl.
It makes my head whirl with fear.
You tell me no tears, keep quiet
And I try it, but it never works
When you **** down my unders
And I feel your fingers blunder
All around on me.
And inside me.
It’s nasty.

Daddy, please don’t do it.
I knew it was wrong the first time
And I know I’m the reason
And you say you are pleasing me
And you mean it lovingly
But it is hurting me inside.
That’s why I always cried
Even though it made you mad
I couldn’t help myself, Daddy
It hurt so badly, and you didn’t care.
You told me not to dare to tell
Or I would go to hell.
That I was a bad little boy.
You didn’t have to tell me
Because nobody will help me.
This is NOT autobiographical, but is a gestalt of ****** friends of mine have gone through and shared with me.
Cat Fiske May 2015
this whole year I have talked to girls in my school,
who wouldn't do things together,
even come together or even talk,

but now were talking,
we've talked,

because the school has lied to us about all these little boy's ****,
and how the boys are allowed to bruise our body's,
steel our souls like it's a game,

why was he allowed?
to get away with it,

because the school and policemen played this game like ****** fools,
and they too encouraged the assault and abuse,
to girls in the hall, or walking to school up the street,

even to girls in cafeterias,

were perfumes of pretty girls were stolen by high school boys,
as they laid on cafeteria floors,
the only scent left was the old lunchroom food stench,

and the high school boy's,
***** *** sweat,

but you belived closeing the doors to the lunchroom,
will stop future harm,

but closeing a door,
wont give a **** victim closer,

espesally when the game continues,
and the odds are stacked up against the women,
where to walk from class to class,

becomes a danger,
and a threat,

because girls who I go to school with have stopped wearing,
that **** red dress,
or tub tops, cutshirts, short shorts,

anything that,
could get you hurt,

because the girls who I go to school with have to wear,
there daddys sweatshirt and sweatpants,
their whole body's while trying to say,

"Im not ****,"
"Don't pick me,"

they are screaming their hopes,
of "Don't Pick Me's" because of the game,
the game of slapping *****,

in the man packs of fives,
to the one girl trying to get to her next class by herself,

the school grounds are no longer a place that's safe,
where you have to know every corner that has a missing camera,
or one turned off,

or if the man pack pull you into the bathroom,
and take off your top,

you're going to be the one,
who gets the book thrown at them,
because the five boys,

pulled the one of you,
into the boys bathroom,

and it doesn't matter why,
or how you got there,
cause school doesn't care,

tells you that you are wrong,
and it's all your fault,

and the five to pull you in,
walk around the school all day,
getting talked up,

like they rolled snake eyes on a pair of six's,
as your stuck like a prisoner in the office trying almost begging,

for some sort of justice,
and every time you talk,
there replys make you feel like a ****,

but you just want to call your mom,
and they wont let you,

so you have to sit and wait, and,
you don't remember if they took your picture & got it with your face,
but you can remember each and everyone of there faces,

like there the only faces a blind person will ever see,
as if there horrible image can't get away from you,

you try,
because you should only see beauty,
though blind eyes,

and your eyes have been scorned,
because five boys tore one girls shirt,

and these boys play the game,
the game of ****, and let me take her picture without her consent,
but that's not even all their rules,

because if they don't do that to you,
they publicly shame you,

they come up to you,
slap your *** so hard,
you instantly see a bruise,

and you have to tell your mother when you get home,
and she has to take pictures of it,

take you to the police station,
where they tell you,
the school should of just handled it,

and in a town so ******* worried about pills,
and drugs,

maybe they should worry about the game they taught their sons,
because the girls may pop pills and drink underanged,
but does that give a man an excuse,

to commit a ****?
and I know it's not just the girls who suffer the most,

I feel though it all,
the guys who have gotten the worse treatment,
kept what happened hidden,

because girls are smart,
and we know all the men got away with it,

so if one or two girls wanna **** a dude,
you think our police or school will do **** for the dudes too?
if anything they'd get publicly shamed,

and what high school boy wants that,
when they were taught to play a game,

and someone,
played the same ****,
**on them.
a bunch of girls keep getting harassed like this. all of this is true sadly this is based on true stuff, none happened to me like this, but I had my phone stolen and the school handled it the same way, and I've been *****, so I'm a support person for people at school, and I try to help them get though it, and make sure they get a police report filed even though they tell them and there parents they don't need too. and try to give them my best support emotionally. Its tough, but we can all get though things, but other things need to change, and yeah I have talked to guys who have been *****, but they didn't do anything.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2015
Dad and Mom were supposed
To protect me from monsters
Hiding under my bed, and
Of course many, many others.
It is so much scarier now that
I don’t know who to trust
I thought it had to be you two.
As parents are surely just.
But, it isn’t true, I know
As my parents don’t care.
They burn me with cigarettes
And lift me by my hair.

I am scared about tomorrow
Based upon my today.
If I think I am safe for a moment
It is sure to go away.
There is nobody to protect me
From those who mean me harm.
There is no place I can trust
There is no place safe and warm.

And late at night when sleeping
And one of them comes in.
They have a frightened animal
In a tiny, unsafe pen.
One of you hits me, I am a temptation.
The other touches me privately.
It’s an unwelcome sensation.
But I am too young to tell you
That you should go away.
It’s enough to ruin my sleep
And fear the end of day.

I am scared about tomorrow
Based upon my today.
If I think I am safe for a moment
It is sure to go away.
There is nobody to protect me
From those who mean me harm.
There is no place I can trust
There is no place safe and warm.

Brent Kincaid
NitaAnn Sep 2014
What I want is to be a little girl who is loved
          instead of abused
A little girl who laughs
          instead of cries in the dark because she is afraid
A little girl who knows she is a princess because her daddy is the King of Kings
          instead of the man who visits each night to ******
A little girl who lives with a family that is kind,
          and has dinners together and plays together

But that is just a dream, because that little girl is no where to be found...
          instead I am fighting moving forward in my healing because I just  
         want to go back and change all the ugly memories I have.
To make things right.

                                     **But I can't...and it hurts!!!!!!!
Emily Tyler May 2013
She may be ******.
And she may check my fingers-
Slam her hard metal pole down on them-
Each time we practice lacrosse.
And she may roll her eyes

But I don't hate her.
I feel sorry for her.
Because I think I'm the only one
Who pays attention
Through the laughter and fun
He touches her.

And she makes a joke out of it
So her minions snap out of their dazed state and
Chuckle a little bit.
But his crawling fingers are greedy
And her words are scarce.

All of the brain-dead minions
Laugh when she jokingly screams,

Except me.

— The End —