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ari Mar 2
something he stole
      was very important to me
                but it’s not the kind of thing
that could ever be returned
         this is no game of
   lost and found
       oh, but the thief
                        the thief―
they couldn’t catch him,
            he’s got
               sly talk and
i think he’s part snake
          they couldn’t catch him because
he left no fingerprints
he took everything from me.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmXJoRWwYig&list=PLbM5LMVZad0ZiIF3lrjpaboKZ9X88t8lP
Planejane2 Apr 2019
Why do I have no boundaries?
Why do you always double time, triple cross me?
Why do I draw a line in the sand for you to curse the waves to erase it.
Even though there’s no need, because you would’ve overstepped it.
You sense my need to keep the peace, so I shush at the tide.
But you hopped on it and rode it, until you were very well settled over me before returning to the sea.
I’m scared of drowning but I don’t budge, so I’m still at bay.
But you prey for the sand to come and bury me away.
I’m scared of sinking but I don’t budge so I’m like a stick in the quicksand.
Suffocating, strangled. Nothing left but a stick in my hand.
Maggi Jan 2019
You killed me.
You killed me the night I went off to your house, not knowing what was awaiting me.
You killed me the moment you asked how my day was and told me that you missed me.
You killed me to moment we started smoking on your roof and you leaned towards me.
You killed me the moment you started kissing me, even though I told you not to.
You killed me the moment your ***** hands started grabbing my body and you tried to take my clothes off.
I was begging you to stop ...
The only thing I can remember is your heavy breathing and your weight burying me in the ground.
The rest of me is dead.
You killed me.
Destiny C Oct 2018
You found my hills-
ignoring the pleas and appeals.

You rampaged your way into the hidden valley,
while I sat their dissociating - assuming death was my finale.

You scourged through my dips and curves,
as though I should be flattered you came back for thirds.

Imprinting your unwelcomed touch on my mind forever,
the violation of my body will be forgotten never.
eleanor prince Sep 2018
(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 ****** 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 boundaries simply should never be breached, 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 massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, 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.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
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