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Charley May 2019
Sculptured Abuser

I’m six years of age and you abuse my body. I’m a child with a fragile body still developing. And you know that but It doesn’t faze you at all.

I’m silly with my school friends. A child heart, Silly brain, I'm sometimes clumsy with what I do
That's just being a normal six-year-old
I’m still learning the basic facts of life, when I’m with you I’m silent and frightened. Does it ever occur to you that one day someone will capture you doing your actions?!

In my mind I would believe what you’re doing to me is the normality of being a guardian.
You know it’s not.
I don't know it's not
But in some ways, I know it's not

The fearful sculptures of you glued into my head
I shouldn’t be seeing you in that way. If I told you, you would enjoy it- if I told anyone they would think I'm making this up: stereotypical thoughts of humans- children like to make out their own stories.
I probably would need psychological help and for a child myself that shouldn't be necessary

I’m not an adult so I shouldn’t be feeling this pain and I shouldn’t be feeling you’re body onto mine.
How does that really feel?!
How does all of this really feels like?!

When I close my eyes it’s not pretty it’s not sunshine and daisies. And unicorns and rainbows. It’s YOU!
Sculptured abuser. If I had to draw a picture of you I would draw a Clown- And not one of them funny clowns either

Midnights have a way of releasing you out of you’re mental cage. Influence of an ugly smell when you're on top of me and not even that when I'm close to you I smell it, it's so dreadful when I taste you're snaked slithery tongue it startles me, makes me want to bite it so you can stop
I will never understand why you treat me like this.
I find it cruel that you even think of me in this way
A ****** predator is your name

You have no idea that this will mess up my physical image of myself and you’ll be messing up my mental mind. Physiological I'm already messed up because this has been going on for years. Abnormalities of a child's mind are playing, building happy memories and watching cartoons.
Defiantly NOT
Getting Abused by their own fathers

Clearly you don’t care!

I’m a child who should be respected not torchered in the way you do to me. Laying in this bed letting you have you’re way with me isn’t what a child should be allowing a parent to do. Isn't something a child should be fearing from

It’s tiring and exhausted that I can’t live a normal life. Especially at night time when I should be fast asleep.

How do you live with you’re self! I truly wonder.
I wonder was this your childhood life too?!
If so no wonder, you would think this is okay
Pretty messed up if you ask me.

Sculptured Abuser
Don’t pick me up from school let me have peace and quiet while travelling to and from school. These alone walks are refreshing- even in school it's safe
You take every chance you can get to be alone with me and to have your way. That's why you jump to the gun went taking me to school and not the others

Why me?!

***** Abuser you should be loving me dearly and giving me hugs to say you love me.

It’s super funny how you have no shame in what you’re doing behind close doors.
‘OH, you won’t be laughing when prisoners have their way with you’. I'll be one laughing

As you know buying me chocolates and talking to me in a creepy way it haunts my nightmares. It haunts me!

Don’t look at me with them spooky evil devil eyes.

Sculptured abuser, I want you to die!
Everypain you will be suffering it will be worth it
And there will be no hand to be searching out for no one will rescue you

You’re a natural abuser and always will be.
You’re funeral will be cold no tears
It will be lonely
This is what you deserve
The faces what you'll be seeing is the faces of the victims you abused.
In my future life to come
I always see you as my
Sculptured abuser
Not my beloved Father
Sometimes a man find himself
encased in a total stare.
Memories of the abusive one
whose aggressions he could
no longer bare.

No one would listen because
of the fact that he is
a man.
Nobody cared to go to his defense
nor tried to understand.

The gender card was exploited
and always on
full display.
Lies held against him will always
be until his abusers dying day.

Hurting inside because
the man forever lost
a child.
The abuser stands by watching
with an aggressive smile.

The abuser never cared
about nothing or the
damage she caused.
She was more concerned about
the good image to be lost.

What his child look like today
the man he just
cannot say.
He finds himself stuck with
the image of yesterday.

His abuser has purposely torn
away parts of his heart
for many years.
His eyes has never dried up
from the many tears.

Avoiding the abuser this man
had to be the one to pay
a lifetime price.
Escaping the claws of the abuser
the child became the
ultimate sacrifice.
my life matter
louis rams Sep 2014
it does not matter if you're male or female
in the mind of a abuser
they will always prevail.
when you allow the abuse from the start
in you life, it becomes a part.

whether it's verbal or physical, it matters not
you let it start, and it won't stop.
the verbal can be more damaging than the physical
because it becomes daily.

like a sculptor chipping away at its mold
until it becomes the way that they want it to be.
and if you don't stop it
you will never be free.

they do it because of their own inadequacy.
which is something that their mind won't see.
how much abuse should you take
before it becomes much to late?

the verbal abuser will always put you to the ground
and expect you to not make a sound.
they will tell you that you was put here to serve.
and to make a move, you have no nerve.

that you must obey their every command
and that you are the **** of the land.
if you have no - or low self esteem
it is something which will be seen.

and when an abuser has you in their sight
no matter what you do, it won't be right.
STOP the abuse, before it's too late.
for this can not be your destined fate.

the verbal abuse will always start first
then from there, it will get worse.
YOU must walk away, so that they can see
a victim you will not be.

(abuse is like a broken tool, it could damage whatever is good)
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
Abuser

Simple pleasures
Causing pain
Building up
To strike again
Draw them in
Shut them out
Weaving lies
Creating doubt
Love to take
But never give
Life expected
Not to live
Stealing hope
Stifling breath
Broken promise
Courting death
Cruel intention
Deed is done
Self-inflicted
Sparing none

Cori MacNaughton
8Apr99
This poem was inspired by a number of people in my life, from the abusers to those I saw abused, many of whom seemed complicit in their abuse, if only by their refusal (or inability) to stand up for themselves.  I also knew many people, including myself on occasion, who were their own worst abusers.

Please note that this was emotional abuse, as I would never have stood by without calling the authorities had physical abuse been involved.

I read this poem at the monthly meditation meeting I attended shortly after I wrote the poem.
louis rams Sep 2010
it does not matter if you're male or female
in the mind of a abuser
they will always prevail.
when you allow the abuse from the start
in you life, it becomes a part.

whether it's verbal or physical, it matters not
you let it start, and it won't stop.
the verbal can be more damaging than the physical
because it becomes daily.

like a sculptor chipping away at its mold
until it becomes the way that they want it to be.
and if you don't stop it
you will never be free.

they do it because of their own inadequacy.
which is something that their mind won't see.
how much abuse should you take
before it becomes much to late?

the verbal abuser will always put you to the ground
and expect you to not make a sound.
they will tell you that you was put here to serve.
and to make a move, you have no nerve.

that you must obey their every command
and that you are the **** of the land.
if you have no - or low self esteem
it is something which will be seen.

and when an abuser has you in their sight
no matter what you do, it won't be right.
STOP the abuse, before it's too late.
for this can not be your destined fate.

the verbal abuse will always start first
then from there, it will get worse.
YOU must walk away, so that they can see
a victim you will not be.

(abuse is like a broken tool, it could damage whatever is good)

louis rams
Mark Lecuona Feb 2012
Are you carrying a silent burden? A memory you wish to forget? I have a few. Some were acts of stupidity that resulted in personal embarrassment. Back in college there was this girl that I liked. She had a new stereo bought for her by her Dad and she asked me if I could help her hook it up. My roommate asked if I needed help and I said no because I was afraid she would like him better than me if he put the stereo together. Look at how my shallowness was imputed onto her. Anyway, I put it together and I spliced the speaker wires together in a way that eventually shorted out both speakers. It was a humiliating experience. And because I was broke all I could do was apologize and slink away in shame.

Once though, I almost died. Climbing a small mountain in Palo Duro Canyon I found myself on a ledge, looked down and froze. I panicked. I had no confidence in the next step. Somehow, I lifted my foot and slowly made my way back to safety. The distance I needed to travel was less than six feet but it felt like a mile. This happened almost 27 years ago and to this day I can break into a cold sweat just thinking about that moment.

These aren’t memories that I wish to deny, but they are memories that cause mental discomfort. I have no one to blame except myself because I put myself into these situations. It's all over now and I've managed to become more prudent yet I still carry the memories (especially the little mountain climb) as if they happened yesterday.

Today, I suffer no loss of pride or ego. Why is that? Somehow I'm able to ignore self-inflicted wounds yet others carry around the pain of trauma inflicted by others.

Trauma can burn a hole into your mind. The hole can be covered up with experiences to the point that it's not noticeable to others, but you know where it is. And you avoid that hole. You build your life around it. It's as if you build a house on top of unstable soil. Instead of building on a solid foundation, you pretend the hole does not exist and move ahead without dealing with the hole. And you know what you have done is defer your problem to the future or you let it affect your life in such a way that you possibly deny yourself pleasure or invite stress because you cannot look into the hole and determine how to fill it permanently.

But what if the hole in your mind was dug by someone else? What if they dug the hole when you were unable to stop them? Maybe they dug the hole and you didn't even know that a hole didn't belong there. Maybe you felt that having a hole in your mind was normal because someone you felt had your best interests at heart was doing the digging.

There is a sign next to this particular hole with one word on it: Abuse. The word on this sign tends to be overused but there are those who need other words to describe their pain because the words hole and abuse cannot begin to describe their trauma. The problem is that society tends to be unforgiving about mental issues because to the naked eye, there is no evidence of a true problem. The human mind is so complex yet we simpletons tend to believe it can be managed very easily. Just do it they say. Just think your way through the problem and its all better.

To me the problem is that the mind does not heal itself like the rest of our body. A cut heals itself. But a severe injury such as a broken bone requires the help of a doctor. We all know this to be true and would consider someone foolish if they did not seek medical attention. Yet when the mind is injured we make fun of people who seek the help of counselors or psychiatrists.

Why is that?

Maybe it’s because we all know we could use help. Yet competency and having your act together is seen as the most important thing in life at times and our ability to day in and day out function under stress is the expectation. It’s been so commoditized that we are tough on ourselves and on others. We struggle through the day with high blood pressure or possibly drinking problems and soldier on instead of calling a mental doctor and just having a chat. This third party can help because they can let you know that you are not alone in your irrational feelings of fear that occasionally creep into your mind.

But, what about that hole in your mind that someone else dug? Why is it a problem? Maybe it was dug long ago and the shovel has been put away. Do you pick up the shovel and keep digging? Why do you refuse to fill it up? Do you feel unworthy? Do you think you somehow are tainted? Do you feel you need to be forgiven? You don’t need to be forgiven because you have done nothing wrong. You were abused. You were taken advantage of. But you retain the right to be happy. The right to a good life. The right to dream and to achieve. But are you not allowing yourself what everyone else seems to take for themselves? They are no better than you.

Yes, it happened to you. Yes, it was terrible and that person deserves bad things for what they did to you. But, this isn’t a conversation about forgiving them because I don't have the right or the insight to tell you to forgive them. That is up to you. But, it is a conversation about healing yourself and looking into the mirror and saying “I’m a human being and whatever someone did to me long ago doesn’t matter.”

Maybe you carry this with you because your abuser made you feel as if you deserved it. You didn’t. You were a child. They were an adult. All children cry, scream, act selfish and make mistakes. You were no different than any other child, but your abuser was different than normal adults. They had an illness or an inferiority complex so profound that they could only make themselves feel better by abusing someone who was helpless. You were helpless. But, it wasn’t your fault and today you should stand up and say “I deserve happiness because I did nothing wrong.”

You have to demand this of yourself. The hole must be filled up with the knowledge of your helplessness in the face of the abuser and with the true belief in your worthiness as a human being to exist in a happy state as others appear to be. You can do this because there is no reason to not believe in yourself. If the one who should have loved you the most didn’t love you then accept this fact and understand that you are lovable. It was their sickness that infected your mind. THEIR SICKNESS; NOT YOURS.

Don’t expect rejection from others because of what happened to you. Not everyone is an abuser. But if you carry this with you then everyone will be an abuser in your mind and you will fulfill a destiny that you have created. Stop looking for the approval of others. They are not God. They are merely human beings just like you and even though they may appear to have their act together, they don’t. Everyone is flawed. So don’t let yourself be intimidated by people; especially because of what happened to you. That is not you. That is only what happened to you.

DON’T LET IT BECOME YOU. And don't make others believe your hole is normal. It's not their burden. Don't dig a hole in their mind. Ask them to help fill yours up.
kevin morris Jan 2014
This is a fictional account of the abuse suffered by a young boy. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1

Lady Macbeth remarked “Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”. All children have their terrors. The bogeyman who lurks in dark corners patiently waiting to harm the unwary child. The ghost who haunts the attic where, even on a bright sunny day the child fears to go alone or some unspeakable terror, a horror with no name which lies just below the surface of every day life. In my case the ghoul who cast an all pervasive shadow over my childhood was Colin, a man small in stature but, to a child a monster of epic proportions.
I have, on occasions tried to comprehend why my abuser acted as he did. As a boy I had no desire to understand Colin. I hated him with an all consuming loathing. He was the devil incarnate who, if it had been in my power to do so I would have destroyed with as little compunction as a man would show when exterminating a rat. As an adult the hatred remains although now tempered with a desire to understand why Colin abused a small, defenceless child, physically and mentally over a prolonged period.
Was Colin abused by one (or both) of his parents? And, if so does this help to explain (but in no way excuse) why he took such great delight in inflicting pain on me? I met both of Colin’s parents and stayed with them on several occasions. At no time during those visits was I subjected to any kind of abuse. This does not of course prove that Colin’s mother and father where not abusers. It demonstrates that they did not abuse me, no more, no less. However, looking back at my visits to their home and, in particular the fact that neither of Colin’s parents abused me, I am inclined to believe that he was not ill treated by either of them. So what turned Colin into the monster who took delight in twisting my arm so hard behind my back that I thought it would break? The answer is, I have no idea. What turned apparently normal Germans into mass murderers in ******’s *****? The answer is the same, I don’t know. As with the concentration camp guards who committed mass ****** I can speculate that some where subjected to abuse as children and that this led to them becoming psychopathic killers. However not all of those abused in childhood go on to commit abuse, while many in the SS experienced apparently happy childhoods untroubled by abuse. Colin may have been abused by someone other than his parents but even if this is the case this does not explain or justify why he became an abuser.

Chapter 2

I was born on 7 February 1971 in the north of England. Soon after my birth it became apparent that all was not right with Donald Myers. I cried far more than any normal child ought to. In addition I banged my head against hard surfaces on a frequent basis which, obviously gave rise to concern. My mum, as any good mother would took me to the hospital only to be told that there was nothing amiss. However a mother’s instinct told her that something was terribly wrong with her son. She refused to leave the hospital and demanded a second opinion. This was provided by a Polish doctor who, having examined me diagnosed a blood clot on the brain. My distraught family was informed that I required an urgent operation and even if the blood clot was successfully removed I was likely to be severely mentaly disabled. Fortunately the blood clot was removed and I am not mentally deficient. The clot did, however leave me with very poor vision (I am registered blind and use a guide dog as a mobility aid although I possess useful vision which assists with orientation).

Chapter 3

As a young boy I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather. This was due to my sister, Janet being ill and my mum not being able to look after 2 young children simultaneously.
I have fond memories of playing in what I called “the patch”, a piece of the garden which my grandfather allowed me to do with as I chose. I recall making mud pies and coming into the house caked in mud literally from head to toe.
Being blind I relied on my grandfather to read to me. Most weekends found us in a book shop. Whenever I walk into W H Smiths the scent of books brings back happy memories of time spent with my grandfather, me sitting on his knee as he read to me.
My grandfather was a dear, kind gentle man. Had he known how Colin was abusing me he would, I am sure have gone straight to the nearest police station to report him. However he never knew and, being a small child I never confided in him.
I am amazed when I hear people ask “why didn’t so and so report the abuse?” As a small child I was terrified of Colin. Had I told anyone I was sure that he would deny everything and the abuse would intensify. I was not aware of the existence of the National Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Children (NSPCC) and even had I known of their existence I would, as a frightened little boy have lacked the courage to pick up the phone and call. Colin would, no doubt have accused me of lying and in the 1970’s and 1980’s children where rarely believed when making alegations of abuse.

Chapter 4

I used to dread leaving the safety of my grandfather’s home to spend time with Colin and my mother. My heart would sink when Colin or my mum came to collect me from my grandfather’s. On one occasion I deliberately dropped the car keys behind the kitchen worktop in the forlorn hope this would prevent my mum taking me to stay with her and Colin. Oh vain hope, the keys where discovered and I found myself in the lair of the abuser.
Colin took care never to abuse me in the presence of others. He was, however adept at tormenting me when my mum or other people where nearby but couldn’t see what he was doing. One incident is indelibly etched on my memory. I was sitting on the sofa, in the living room. The room opened straight out into the street and I was seated close to the front door. My mum called to me from outside asking whether I wanted to accompany her to the supermarket. I replied “yes” but before I could leave to join her Colin, who was sitting on the same sofa twisted my arm behind my back and whispered that I should tell my mum that I had changed my mind. I continued to attempt to leave but Colin increased the pressure saying that if I didn’t inform my mum that I had changed my mind he would break my arm. Naturally I called to my mum that I no longer wished to go with her and she left without me.
Being outside my mum did not see the abuse taking place a mere few feet from where she was standing.
On another occasion, while Colin and I where sitting in the living room, he forced a chipped mug into my lip which drew blood. Again my mum was present in the kitchen, which was located next to the living room but did not observe the abuse. On entering the living room and noticing the scar a few minutes later she enquired what had caused it. At this point in time I don’t recollect whether Colin put the lie into my mouth or whether I concocted the story in order to avoid further abuse. In any case I informed my mum that I had cut myself with a chipped mug, a version of events she accepted.  
At times I thought that I was going to die. No small boy likes washing but I used to dread bathing due to Colin’s own unique method of assisting me to wash. This consisted of holding my head under the water so that my nose and mouth filled and I felt as though I was going to die. I would emerge, terrified coughing and spluttering.
Colin obviously derived tremendous pleasure from half suffocating me. On numerous occasions he would place a cushion or pillow over my face and hold it there until I felt that I was about to die. Years later when I attended counselling with the mental health charity Mind, the counsellor asked me why I thought that Colin had not killed me? I replied that he probably derived more pleasure from having a living child to torment than he would have gained had he murdered me. Also, had he murdered me the prospect of detection and Colin spending a long period in prison would, I said have acted as a disincentive to  him taking my life. .  
Colin was a sadist. In adition to systematically abusing me he also abused my mum. I remember him hitting her on a regular basis and on at least one occasion pushing her down the stairs. He was (and is) a ******* of the first order.
Colin didn’t confine his cruelty to people. I recall him flinging the family cat at me. The poor animal stuck out it’s claws to gain purchase with the result that it scratched my face badly. Like all bullies Colin was, at bottom a coward. I never once saw him abuse the family dog. I am sure that this was not out of any affection for the animal, rather it stemmed from the fear that had he done so the dog would, quite naturally have bitten it’s tormentor in self defence. Oh how I wished that the dog had sunk his teeth into Colin.          

Chapter 5

We all have nightmares. As a young boy one of my recurring bad dreams concerned being chased by a hoover. To anyone unfamiliar with the abuse inflicted on me the relating of my dream will, no doubt result in mirth. However my nightmare was no laughing matter as to me the vacuum cleaner was a thing of terror. We owned an upright hoover which Colin would, periodically place on my head while the motor was running. I well recall the terror as the wheels of the machine ran across my head. Colin was nothing if not inventive as in addition to putting a working vacuum cleaner on my head he also made me hold the machine above my head. My arms would ache terribly but I dare not put the hoover down until ordered to do so by Colin. For many years following the ending of the abuse “the chasing hoover dream”, as I refered to it stubbornly refused to go away. While the nightmare no longer plagues my sleeping brain, whenever I use a vacuum cleaner the recollection of a terrified little child being tortured by a hoover comes back to me.
In another of my childhood nightmares I would enter the spare bedroom only to be grabbed by a clicking monster which wrapped it’s hands around my neck attempting to strangle me.
Colin choked me on numerous occasions. One incident remains vividly imprinted on my memory. It was evening and my mum, sister, Colin and I sat in the living room. All of the family accept for me where watching television. I was listening to a talking book about a footballer which contained many amusing stories. I laughed uproariously throughout much of the book. Later on that evening, following the departure of my mum and sister to bed Colin choked me telling me never to laugh like that again as I had “disturbed” people. As I recall Colin’s strangling of me the old terrors reassert themselves. At the time I felt that I had, perhaps done something wrong. However the logical part of my brain told me that I had done nothing whatever to justify Colin’s barbaric treatment of me. He ought to have gone to prison for that incident alone. He was (and remains) the personification of evil to me. To this day I can, on occasions feel self conscious about giving in to the natural desire to laugh at a great joke when in the company of friends. I can (and do) let myself go and laugh uproariously but Colin remains in the background, like Banquo’s ghost putting a dampener on the feast.

Chapter 6

Colin possessed considerable charm which is, perhaps how he came to entrap my mum into marrying him. I remember sitting around the dinner table with guests present and Colin holding forth on Charles Darwin amongst other topics. Although not university educated Colin was by no means unintelligent and could, if one was unfamiliar with his propensity to abuse, appear to be charm itself, a man whom it would be a pleasure to have over for dinner.      

Colin possessed the capacity to make people laugh which he used to devastating effect when making barbed comments at the expense of my mum. I hated him for his comments but laughed none the less which is proof of the idea that hostages frequently try to please their captors by forming some kind of relationship with them. I can not at this juncture in my life recall in detail how, precisely Colin undermined the confidence of my mum, I suspect that this inability on my part stems from the fact that I was, quite naturally concerned with my own suffering and the abuse perpetrated on my mum was of secondary concern. My own pain preoccupied me. I had little time for that of others.

Chapter 7

My counsellor and my dear friend, Barry have raised the issue as to whether my mum was aware of the abuse to which Colin was subjecting me. I have thought about this question long and hard and I still can not provide a categoric answer. I am sure that my mum never actually observed Colin in the act of abusing me. She was, as explained in the forgoing chapters, never in the same room when the abuse took place. The fact that her son showed a profound disinclination to be alone with Colin should though have caused alarm bells to start ringing. Colin was clever. The only time I can recollect when he caused me to bare a physical manifestation of abuse was the incident of the chipped cup related earlier. On all other occasions the marks where deep psychological wounds not visible to the casual observer.
I have tried discussing the abuse with my mum. Her reaction has osilated between stating that the abuse occurred a long time ago and that I ought to forgive and forget, to questioning whether it did, in fact take place. My gut feeling is that my mum does not doubt my veracity. The anger she manifested on discovering that I had informed my wife of the abuse perpetrated by Colin demonstrates that she does not doubt me.
Shortly prior to my wife and I separating we went to stay with my mum and sister. One morning my mum, my daughter and I went for a walk during the course of which my mum received a call from my sister. Janet said that my wife, Louise had told her that I had informed Louise of the abuse to which I had been subjected to by Colin. My mum rounded on me asking “why the hell I had told Louise about the abuse”. There ensued a blazing argument during which my mum hit me. On returning home the argument continued with Janet stating that I should talk to Colin about the situation. The fact that Janet did not defend Colin and state that he couldn’t, possibly have abused me indicates that she was, to some extent aware of the abuse.
I love my mum deeply and have no doubt that she loves me. Yet whenever we are together the elephant in the room (Colin) stands between us, seen by both but mentioned by neither. In my case I fear the eruption of a blazing argument. I have always shyed away from arguments which is, I suspect down to me having grown up in a family in which vilence and arguments where commonplace. As a small boy I developed strategies for minimising the likelyhood of being abused. My main strategy was to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I became a master at sitting quietly, not speaking unless I was spoken to and doing everything in my power not to antagonise Colin. While I don’t fear being physically abused by my mum I shrink in terror at the prospect of a verbal tyraid eminating from her.
In my mum’s case she does, I believe feel guilty due to her not having protected her son from Colin. The fact that she refuses to discuss the abuse to which I was subjected shows her inability to acknowledge to me her own sense of culpability at her failure to prevent Colin’s behaviour. On at least one occasion my mum has told me that the abuse could not have taken place as, if it had she would have been aware of it. This is contradicted by her statement (refered to earlier) that it was a long time ago and I ought to “forgive and forget”. Both statements can not be correct and in her heart of hearts my mum knows that I am telling the truth, she lacks the courage to admit her own failings and apologise to me.      

Chapter 8

At this distance in time I can not pinpoint the precise point at which the physical abuse stopped. At some indeterminate point (I think during my early teens) I began to challenge Colin’s behaviour. I remember wishing to join a social club and Colin informing me that I could not do so. Full of fear and trepidation I said that I would join to
The days of neon grey continues
haunting me deep inside.
My child, now gone forever
hidden because of lies.

Screams in dark dreams seem
to come often and clear.
The abuser stands closely by
watching me covered in fear.

Taking a high road of trying to
support a colorless demon.
Whose heart was covered by
nothing but black and neon.

Signs of distress often appeared
before my very own eyes.
The heart told me to keep going
and to overlook the sea of lies.

Reality was shadowed by wanting
to make a dream come true.
The abuser wanted nothing but to
turn the sun black and neon blue.

The abuser always seem to have
a colorful secret of how to win.
Falsely forgetting that their neon lies
is how all the bad things begin.

Maybe the neon dream will have
a bright neon color of reverse.
And finally break away from the
abusive demon and its neon curse.
my life matter
Paula Putnam Jul 2019
Every 9 seconds a women is beaten in he U.S. Every minute 20 people are victims of Intimate Partner Violence. Every day 38,028,000 women are murdered by male partners in the U.S. Every year 1,300 people die because of abuse. This is inhuman and should stop. Abuse is heartbreaking to me. Nobody in this universe has the right to abuse someone or something else. Abuse is incredibly wrong. It has not only led people into depression, but it has also led them into suicide. Abuse is a very sensitive topic to write about. We hear about people getting abused and half the people ignore it but not me. I take it serious because it should not be happening. It not only destroys its victims, but it also destroys the victim's friends and family. It is n no way fair to abuse. With the situation of abuse in the world I think we should do away with it in America. When that day comes, we will see the difference.
     Abuse is serious and should not be taken for granted. If abuse hasn't killed its victim, it's well on the way to. It has killed so many people. It has led the survivors into a unimaginable depression. Barely anyone has survived from abuse. The depression gets worse after a while. People can't stand the intense depression but for so long. They don't trust anyone after being abused, so they keep their feelings in. The fight is so hard they commit suicide to get away. This decreases our population even more, and it's still happening today. This is not right.
       The abusers find everything fine and right in their world, but in the real world it's not. It is not fair to abuse anybody or anything in this universe. Yea, things could be going good for the abuser, but not for the abused. The abused feel horrible about themselves, but the abuser is happy which is not fair. The abuser also has no right to abuse. No one gave them the right to abuse people. No one has the right to abuse at all. The abuser should feel terrible about themselves for hurting so many people. When they hurt one they hurt several. People try to help the abused, but they don't listen. Abuse is destroying this world.
           Abuse destroys so many things. It has destroyed many people. The people it's destroyed, it has also destroyed their friends and family. Imagine, this little girl that the family and friends love gets beat to death. The family and friends find out and are crushed. They never stop grieving and soon become very depressed. Some commit suicide, others live a painful life. The family got torn apart, and nothing was he same again. In different cases this has happened. The friends and family of the victims can't seem to be happy after this has happened. They stay to themselves, and never talk about it again. Nothing would ever be the same.
           Every 9 seconds. Every minute. Every day. Every year. At least 38,028,000 people suffer from abuse. This is so inhuman. It hasn't stopped. It is so heartbreaking to know all this is happening. The world needs to change. Abuse needs to stop. It has led people into pain. People have died because of abuse. So, with this in mind, abuse needs to stop here in America. The America i believe in is one without abuse. When it changes we will see the change in humanity.
This is a very old essay I wrote about 4 to 6 years ago. Sorry for not having as proper as normal. :)
Ilunga Mutombo May 2017
My hands left marks on your body
I never meant to leave marks on your body!!
Place pain on your body
I see you cry, but I sit in darkness lonely
You were my veins to my dark heart
Now My soul is aching my heart is breaking
I feel your body shaking
fear comforts you and misery wipes your tears
twisted you are, emotions expressed while my fists pressed on your face
leaving prints
with every hit, I get a flashback to when I was a child and powerless
this is dark words, poetry through the eyes of an abuser
a heart user, emotion killer, love hater, pain enforcer
it is I who dares to care
I hurt you before
why do you return to me like a wrong address placed on an envelope
coming back for more
like the first time wasn't enough
poetry through the eyes on an abuser who was once a victim
I guess pain is just a cycle, what we feel is what we give
Inflicting pain is my only way of letting you know I love you
Love through the eyes of an Abuser
Cné Aug 2015
Lairs twist life so it's tasty to the lazy
Powerful to the weak and crazy

Brilliant and seductive to the
ignorant youth
But even in pain, there is beauty in the truth

Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable
For only cowards lie selfishly without preamble

As lies only strengthen a liar's defects
A liar's character, mind, & spirit gains no positive affects

The abuser of the truth paints with disappearing colors
Valuing the canvass at worthless dollars

For once the veil of the facade is lifted
Honesty, integrity and trust can never be re-gifted.

Unhappy are the takers
Or why else be fakers?

But to devastate the essence of the believer
Measures the cruelty of the deceiver

Inner peace with self deception
Is the doing of one's own soul's destruction

However if truth be told
When lies gradually unfold,

Is it better to be the believer
Or the deceiver?
Lame Poet Oct 2013
I want to be a substance abuser.

I want the vapidity
of my own words
to evaporate.
I want the void
to rev itself up,
and spin itself into
a voracious tornado.

I want to extinguish
the emptiness
with this epitaph.
I want language
to bend to my will,
leaning and looming
as an entity of entirety.

If I should be so lucky,
I hope to die
of an overdose.


-LP
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.

Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.

Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.

Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.

Cheap *****, digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:

Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.

Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.

Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.

Billboards, subways, phones and buses:

Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.

Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.

Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.

Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.

Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.

Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.

Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.


Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.

Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.

Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Chris Jun 2019
Why do we Idolize forgiveness?
The abuser can lie
The abuser can cheat
The abuser can beat
But you have to forgive.

An abuser says things'll get better
Before they cast you aside.

An abuser states "You're my all"
Before hitting you again.

But you have to forgive
Or you're in the wrong.
Sorry if this about to sound like a rant, but why do we idolize forgiving abusers? I feel like we as a society (USA) likes to downplay the severity of which abuse can do oneself. I've seen abuse and been abused. Beatings are something you can expect, lying, denying the truth. People still say we should forgive them as if nothing happened and still go back to them? Why? Enjoy.
claire Mar 2012
Hanging from a Star
The girl sat on her star. The dark towering flowers around her, cast shadows over her blank face. She walked around the side of her star to the grass so she could watch the fiery sun and look down at the fluffy billowing clouds in earth’s atmosphere. Lying, hating thoughts floated up from the beautiful blue and green planet below. The girl had been watching earth since it was first created. Cain’s first thoughts of ****** were heard by the girl. She watched the black plague wash through the world, killing millions. The hell of the holocaust burned through her mind like fire across her own skin. Sometimes she swore she could almost smell the melting flesh and boiling blood from the sick world below.
The girl nestled down in the warm grass and focused her guarded mind in preparation to listening in on the earth, like she did every other day. “Her nose is so ugly.” “Why didn’t I do more today?” “I miss her.” “I need to put at least ten percent in savings if I’m ever going to retire.” “I hope no one else notices this huge zit protruding from my face.” “Why didn’t I just kiss him?” “The sun is burning my eyes.” She made her way through selfish minds of the shallow population and then moved for relief, to the newborn children. Images of parents, lights, and bright colors flashed before her eyes. Each new child’s face seemed to be surrounded in a beautiful clear light. The girl wished the children had never been brought to that terrible planet.
One child in particular tugged on the girls thoughts, making the girl want to focus entirely on her. The light around the child was brilliant. The baby’s ocean eyes were open and focused on the one beautiful flower in the room. The details of the daisy were perfect in the child’s mind. The baby fell deeply in love with the white petals that curled softly around the bright yellow center. The girl’s mind was entranced by the lovely child. The girl named the perfect child Claire and sent heavenly visions to entertain the child’s thoughts as the hospital buzzed around her.
As Claire grew, the girl watched her red curls flourish and darken with each day. Her blue eyes bloomed as she turned into a happy toddler and her pale skin stayed radiant and cloudless. Claire’s mommy was a large, reserved woman, but loved her little girl with all her heart. Her mommy sang her to sleep each night and gave her everything she could afford to. But the floor of the trailer where they lived was layered in mud, cat feces, and tobacco. Her father’s face and clothes were covered in stains and the beard that he never remembered to shave had remnants of chewing tobacco that he hadn’t spit far enough. Every night, his drunk, angry voice roared throughout the house, cursing at whatever he could get into his hands first. Each time this happened, the ******* the star poured daisies into Claire’s mind as Claire buried her china face into a soiled pillow.
After a sublime day of school filled with telling time and and reading silly stories, Claire  skipped back to her hostel under the warm autumn sun. She opened her front door to find her mommy in a pool of ***** and blood. Claire screamed in horror and fled back down the steps to the closest residence, trying to see through her own flooded eyes as she tripped along the avenue. Claire’s father never even went to the hospital to inquire about his wife. The hospital gave up calling him, and she was buried in an unplanned graveyard, under the cheapest tombstone.
Claire became the subject of her father’s wrath. Several times a month he would take Claire to bed with him and **** her. She cried silently as he seized her tiny body, leaving large dark bruises where he should have left kindness. The ******* the star filled Claire with exquisite thoughts as he blemished her, but a child may not always be calmed in a situation of pure agony. Tears streamed from the star, watering the daisies next to the trashed trailer.
The ******* the star watched as Claire grew and learned. Finally, Claire vacated the ***** trailer park, on her way to a brighter future. Then Claire met Him. His thoughts were black. Though his eyes scoured Claire’s body, his smile seemed sincere. The ******* the star tried to keep Claire away from him, but Claire was in love with his kindness and moved in with him. The bruises seemed to appear again on a larger scale all down her arms and across her stomach. This man’s hands were harsher than her father’s, but his constant words of kindness drew Claire in, melting her heart into his ice cold soul. Claire dedicated herself to the man, and just as she did, his temper turned fierce and there was fire in his hands.  Other girls seemed to appear in their small apartment dressed in scant ****** and smirks.
One night his fingers skimmed like sand paper up her frail arms and the smell of alcohol breathed down on her face. His fiery hands hit her over and over, slamming her into walls, bloodying her hands and knees, and knocking her out cold. He left her there, sprawled out on the floor, bleeding freely from several gashes. The ******* the star could not reach Claire. Her mind was gone. She thought Claire was dead, so in the path of the drunken abuser, the ******* the star put a murdering thought into a killer’s mind. The abuser was shot in an alley where no one would find him. Angry wailing poured down onto the streets.
Claire woke up and posed in the apartment for weeks. The ******* the star perceived in dismay, that Claire’s light was out. Claire drank whatever alcohol was left there and sliced her arms from wrist to shoulder. The apartment turned grimy along with her blood and oil matted hair. Some of her wounds became infected and her face was no longer a china doll, but a red splotchy entanglement, smeared with dirt and tears. For those weeks it rained steadily as the ******* the star wept. No pleasant thoughts were sent to any human’s mind, but the daisies grew tall and out of control.
Claire’s blackened spirit left the cool, ***** apartment one morning. Her tiny body abandoned in a corner, was huddled in the fetal position, covered in dust bunnies. The ******* the star made a noose from a black daisy, and for the first time, the sky rained blood on earth. Each morning thereafter, the ******* the star walked through her forest of black daisies, retied a noose , and hung herself from the bottom of her star, overwhelmed by the appalling nature of the world below, blocking earth out of her mind with her own pain and suffering.
eli Aug 2015
she always told me
"try This"
"try That"
she constantly
wore a blood alcohol level
that defied mathematics.
and bore eyes red
as a painter's canvas;
but a smile
she would paint onto her face
putting the final touches
to her masterpiece.

she always told me
Try This
Try That
reassuring i'll be fine regardless
if i get hooked, or not.

she was Perfectly Drifting away
unaware
i was already hooked
to the most powerful Drug of all
right
in front of me.
Tyler Zempel Dec 2018
The Abuser

Driving down a quiet road just leaving my job at the *******,
looking forward to going home and taking a relaxing hot bath, I’m in need of a good scrub
since perverted old men enjoy putting their hands all over my assets while providing them with a lap dance.
At least I don’t have to follow a script during my dance and am allowed to freelance.
I make great money and enjoy a relaxing life that didn’t come about due to circumstance.
It happened because I wasn’t afraid to step out of my own shadow and take a chance
on myself, that I’m sure through the eyes of judging others will be wrote off as melancholy happenstance.
**** them, my life is great besides missing a bit of romance,
and besides, these same judging ******* always come to me looking for a quick cash advance.
I’m financially set with a nice house and car all at the age of twenty-three.
Kiss my ***, kiss my feet, bow down and ******* worship me!

My attention is brought back to reality as red and blue lights begin to flash behind me.
A cop is right on my ***, I guess I must have been driving a little too carefree.
I quickly pull over hoping to get a quick ticket and get on with my night.
Hopefully he’s a nice cop and not one of them rude one’s who’s always pulling people over looking to start a fight.

The officer approaches my window; taps on it to indicate he wants me to roll it down.
I quickly roll it down and force a fake smile trying hard not to frown.
The officer asks me if I know why he has pulled me over.
I tell him I assume for speeding, apologize and tell him I should have been driving a bit slower.
The officer shines his flash light into my face and tells me speeding, and I crossed the center line some little ways back.
He tells me my eyes are red and my car has an odor that smells like I’ve been smoking crack.
I tell him I’ve just got off work and I’m not on any drugs or alcohol, that my eyes are red from being over tired.
He gives me a glare that tells me my answer came off as uninspired.
He asks me where do I work since I’m getting off very late.
I tell him I work at the ******* and that my shift was supposed to end at eight,
but a girl called in sick so I had to stay to cover for her.
I’m completely sober and just tired from a long day of work I reassure.

I officer asks to see my I.D.
He looks at it quickly then asks me to step out of the vehicle.
He leads me to the back of the car and has me lean against the trunk.
He asks me one more time if I’m on drugs or drunk,
then asks if he can search my car.
I have nothing to hide so I say yes trying not to act bizarre.

The officer begins searching my car starting in the front.
This is all a little bit extreme to be blunt.
He has no reason to suspect me of any wrong doing besides driving a little bit too fast.
Whatever, I’ll just play along with his stupid game and comply with every demand he asks.

A few minutes later the cop exits my car and approaches me carrying a bag filled with a white substance.
He tells me he found a bag of ******* in my car and that I’m busted.
“*******!”  I yell, “I have never done ******* in my life, you planted that bag in my car!
Hell, the only drug I’ve ever done was some **** in the bathroom of some run-down bar.”

The cop, now angry, grabs and twists my arm turning my body around so I’m facing the trunk of my car.
He forces my head down hard onto the trunk and whispers into my ear, “you’re lucky I don’t light up a cigar,
and place it against that pretty check of yours until it’s nice and burned.
So, here’s a lesson you need to learn,
never, and I repeat never, accuse a cop of planting drugs on you.
You are in a world of **** right now and your future is not looking good,
so, if you want to get out of this with your freedom intact, play along with my game and I’ll let you out of my neighborhood.”

The cop places one of his hands on my *** and begins to feel it up.
He tells me I have a fantastic body and can get out of this mess by exploiting my goods.
“I know a quiet place we can go to where you can use your ***** holes to pay off this debt you find yourself in.
You’re in for a treat yourself, I still have my *******,
and have a nice 8-inch mass that knows how to please you like a man and not like the little boys I’m sure you’re use to *******.
So how about we go to this quiet place I know and you can start this session off with some *******.”

I tell the officer I’ll do what he wants.
I just have to keep my cool and act nonchalance.
The cop laughs and smiles and says we are going to do this his way.
He tells me finding me tonight has really made his day.
He places his cuffs on me and leads me to his patrol car,
where he places me in the back seat next to an acoustic guitar.
He tells me the place he knows is just a few minutes away,
so, it will only be a short period of time before we can begin our play.
I tell him that’s great news, because between you and I, the sooner I’m out of this situation, the better,
then I can begin my own endeavor.
I’m going to go after him for what he’s doing to me here tonight.
Abusing your power, regardless of your positon is so not right.
He has way too much confidence that he will get away with this, that leads me to believe this is not the first time he has done this.
I’m sure most, if not every night while on patrol, he pulls over a young unsuspecting girl, sets her up and forces her legs to do the splits.
They are ***** and probably too terrified to ever speak up.
Well I’m not terrified; I will have my revenge.
Go ahead set me up with a bag of *******, use that advantage to **** me, but in the end, I will be the one laughing at your trail,
as I testify against you so you are locked away forever for your heinous crimes!
---------------------------------------------------------­----------------------------------------

The patrol car pulls up and parks in front of a dark, seemingly abandoned house.
The officer was right, it only took a few minutes, all the while he ran his mouth off about the *** I was about to experience with him while I remained as quiet as a mouse.
The officer gets out of the car and walks to the back of the car where I’m located.
He opens the door, guides me out still in cuffs and tells me not to be afraid.
I’m not afraid you *******, just upset a man of the law would do such a horrible thing to an innocent person.
I hope once exposed to the light of the world, the knowledge the world will have of your misdeeds will cause you a great burden.
I hope you suffer greatly for your perversions,
and suffer so dearly that not even the holiest of sermons
will be able to soothe your heart and end the hurting.
What you plan to do to me certainly leaves my heart burning.
One thing is certain,
contrary to what you believe, I’m not so inclined towards introversion.
And after I expose you, my actions will be viewed as a public service.

With the officer pushing me along, we make our way to the front of the house where I notice and house has been sealed off with police tape.
Wait…I know this place, it’s been on the news, the sick **** is taking me here to carry out his ****?

The officer takes out a key and opens the front door to let us in.
Once inside, I notice him supporting the largest of grins.

“I know whose house this is officer…I’m sorry I didn’t even get your name.”

“And my name you won’t get and if you think you’re so smart, then whose house is this?”

“This house belongs to Chris Morris, the man who took two young girls prisoner and ***** them repeatedly.
And you brought me to his house to carry out your own ****, do you always act so conceitedly?”

“I brought you here because the house is closed off and no one will discover us here.
It’s a good place to go to if you just want to disappear.”

“Speaking of this house, did you guys ever find Chris Morris?”

The officer walks into the kitchen intentionally ignoring my question.
He opens the refrigerator and cracks open a beer as I await his confession.
He walks up to me and stares into my eyes with a blank, soulless expression.
I’m not sure if he’s about to act calm or explode on me in a fit of aggression.
He’s staring into my soul and sipping on his beer like I’m his obsession.
This ***** sure decided on the wrong profession.
He should have gotten into **** and acted out some **** fantasies if this is his thing.
He does have a huge ego, likes to be in control and probably views himself as a king.
I wonder what he would enjoy more, pressing his lips against mine and kissing,
or by being a sick **** by placing me on my knees with my mouth open with him above me *******.

He finally speaks, “We will find Chris Morris, don’t you worry about that.”

“I don’t understand, how did you guys managed to find the two girls but lose the suspect?
You should have had someone tailing him constantly to make sure he didn’t go unchecked.”

“He wasn’t here when we discovered the girls and he hasn’t been seen since.
If you ask me, he probably fled and country and is now hanging out in some **** hole place like Port-au-Prince.
Enough of your questions, now we are going to start this session off with me snorting a line of ******* off of your ***.”

“So it was your *******?”

“Of course it’s mine, it’s my dark secret, besides taking advantage of hot young women.
Now let’s go see how good your ***** is since it is the way you make your living.”

“I’m not a prost…”

The officer slaps me and pushes me forward towards the master bedroom where I’m sure Chris had his share of fun.
How I wish I could make a break for it and run.
The officer forces me into the bedroom where he pushes me violently onto the bed.
He laughs and tells me I’m about to be bred.
He uncuffs me just long enough to turn me onto my stomach and re cuff me to the bed posts so I have no way to escape.
He pulls my leggings down and off of me and tells me my *** is in perfect shape.

He begins licking my *** checks while rubbing his fingers against my ***** before removing my thong with his teeth.
He moans softly to himself at the sight of my naked bottom and takes a deep breath.
He takes out his bag of ******* and lays out a line on my naked ***.
He at least could have provided me with some high-quality grass,
so we would both be on the same level for this encounter.
I guess he only cares about himself and having his way with my precious flower.

The officer places his nose on my *** and sniffs the line of ******* up as fast as he possibly can.
He shoots up quickly and yells “Whooooo!!!!!” Pleased that everything is going to plan.
He tells me he wants one more line so he places another on my *** and sniffs that one up as well as quickly as possible,
all the while I remain cuffed to the bed acting docile.

The officer gets behind me and begins licking my smooth ***** with his tongue.
He has to be in his mid to late 40’s, but he likes his women young.
He sticks his tongue all the way inside me and begins tongue ******* me over and over again.
He mumbles, “you taste so good I want to take you and get married to you in Spain.”

For what seems like 20 minutes he goes to town licking and tongue ******* me.
All I can think about is how I want to **** him and dispose of his body in the sea.
Now tiring of eating me, he pulls his tongue out of my ***** and puts yet another line of ******* on my ***.
This man truly has no class.
He snorts the third line just as quickly as the first two,
then climbs up onto the bed and whispers into my ear that he’s ready to turn my ***** black and blue.

The officer takes off all of his clothes then mounts me from behind.
I hope I don’t get pregnant, is all that’s going through my mind.
I’m not on birth control and he plans on finishing deep inside me.
If only there was a way to break myself free.

The officer now rock hard shoves his eight-inch **** violently inside me.
I let out a loud, pain filled moan as he lets out a laugh in glee.
He tells me I’m super tight and feel great as he begins to breed me harder and faster with each ******.
This is why police are so easy to mistrust.
They can’t follow the laws they are sworn to follow and protect.
Not all are bad but most are, I know I’m correct.

After a few minutes of increasingly violent thrusting, the officer stops ******* and tells me he’s in trouble.
Without warning, he falls off of the bed and lies motionless on the floor.
The ****** just overdosed and died on *******.
That’s what he gets for not using his brain,
however, I’m still cuffed to the bed with no way to break free.
No one is around to even hear my pleas.
Not a single living soul knows I’m trapped in this house.
No one at work will even know I’m missing until tomorrow night but will have no way of discovering my whereabouts.

HOW THE **** DO I GET OUT OF HERE!
I’M GOING TO ******* DIE HERE!
WHAT THE **** HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?
THIS IS THE ONLY ******* SCENARIO WORSE THAN BEING *****.
I’m stuck here…
I’m stuck here…
kailee Nov 2018
im not going to give you credit
and say that you are the one that
you obliterated my life
because i can do that by myself

im not going to give you fame
by saying you tortured me
because i can do it

i am going to tell you
you made me strong enough to leave
and smart enough to know when to leave
im not romanticizing abuse im just stating what i know abuse to be
Aerial Fabish Jan 2015
One day, I will find you,
And I will scream;
A child's words
From an adult mouth.
I will make you quiver
With the same fear
You instilled in me
Since I was three years old.
You will not
Be able to run.
No hiding allowed in this game.
Just take it.
I hope you cry
Silent cries;
Of fear and abuse,
Betrayal and torment.
And while you cry,
I will stand over you,
Shaming you,
With my hand over your mouth.
Be good for once!
Be good!
You're bad!
Always bad!
I will make you feel
A child's pain.
I will be in control.
You will not have the last word.
I wrote this running on 20+ hours without sleep and terrible flashbacks running through my mind. I know it isn't my best poem, but it raw.
Lens of Truth Nov 2014
I truly am pathetic.
But not for the ways you say.
For the way that I let you tear me down.
For the way I said it was my fault.
That everything was my fault.
In truth it was yours darling.
But I thought if I blamed myself,
then you wouldn’t be hurt.
That you would feel better about yourself.
And you did,
But I didn’t.

Now this is what it’s come to?
You, writing these spiteful lies you call poetry?
Now you’ve become pathe-

No…

I can’t speak of you this way.
I never could.
I always let you hurt me
with a smile on my face.
I always blamed myself,
though that was not the case.
I should have said something.
Stood up for myself.
But I didn’t want to hurt you,
Make you sad,
Make you feel the way I do…
I just wish
That these people,
The ones who read your poems
Knew the whole story,
My side of it.
The side that makes the ******, the villain
That makes the abuser,
the awful, disgusting, worm of a man,
just a sad, lonely and broken boy,
willing to destroy himself to see his true love happy.

But words are powerful
And hers may be better than mine.
If so then my story may go untold,
Unbelieved.
But, believed or not,
The truth must be told
I will no longer be that pathetic, submissive soul,
but instead an instrument to show the truth
A lens of truth…
I cant just sit here and let you destroy me. The truth will be known...
Lestatmalfoy Jul 2011
This is degrading.
The names you shout destroy me.
Stop holding me back.
Physical abuse
Verbal abuse
Emotional abuse
Spiritual abuse
Financial abuse
Which stands out to you none because they are all abuse.
Ben Hitimana Apr 2014
Look at you
Look at what you've become
You think this is happiness
Her under your thumb
Her resolve breaking down
The parts used to fix your life
Her medium of release
The blade of a knife
This is abuse
In its emotional sense
Using sadness and anger to manipulate and hence
It doesn't take much
To bring a state of vex
This relationships a cycle
Of pain and ***
*** only providing a temporay relief
Before our eyes are opened
To the strife and grief
Yet she defends you
Once said its problems at home
With each word in your defense
I think Stockholm, Stockholm
Since her resolve is crumbling
To ashes and dust
I ask myself whether its love or lust
Lust its loss
A fear of losing control
Like you did with another
Like you did as a whole
Thats why she"s your second
Thats why you're with her
A girl who never argues
Retaliates or infers
So you can remain in control
Keep her in a drone like state
Where her spirit is in your hands
Where you decide her fate
So I write this poem with the hope
That she will find
That a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind
Ilunga Mutombo Oct 2017
At first his hand prints were soft
Touching me gently, slowly and softly
Then his ego got fed
They became hard
Found strength to swing

My face the target
Swinging and swinging
He hit with a passion

I was his lover and his target
I forgave and he reloaded
Bullets in hands
Shot and my heart he destroyed

My inside pain became seen by many
Bruises and bumps, cut lips and black eyes
They asked why I never left
I told them he took something from me
He took my heart and left me feeling empty
To fill that void I replaced his love with my pain
Some called him an abuser
I called him my lover

To me it was all the same
This piece was written from a woman's point of view. It's not easy to know and hear of stories of woman that have been abused. If you know about someone who has gone through this kind of pain stand up for the voiceless.
JustChloe Feb 2016
You know you were abusive right?
Honestly worse than your father
You strangled me with words
And left me riddled with questions and scars
Now the scars I applied myself
I had to create some physical evidence
Of the torture you left
And speaking of leaving
You left me
Which I'm happy to say
No longer distresses me
Even though you still won't adress me
Apparently
You go mute when I try to speak
Nontheless
I am no longer obessesing
But sadly
You learned to obess over me
It's obvious you started watching me
Amature
Cover your trail
You're immaturity makes your frail
But you were abusive
Though not anymore more
I finally have picked myself up from the floor
You see
I found the good in goodbye
And I don't crave you anymore
So goodbye abuser
And Thank you
For leaving me once more
Annamaria Gagno Nov 2012
Darkness
within myself
I hide from fear
fear to whom
maybe my
mother
brothers
my abuser

I hide within myself
no where to run
I hide in the closet

I cry
and
I cry

no one can hear
not even my
mother
brother
my abuser

what should I do
tried many times
to run and to run

knowing what's to come
when I return
home

my mother ready
behind the door
what would she have
in her
hand

a
belt
wooden spoon

what fear to look for
within myself
I hide
many times
in my closet
no one can see me

I so skinny
no one knows
where to look
I can hear them
call my name

Anna
where are you

Anna
it's supper
many times
I miss supper
it wasn't important
to me

food oh well
I won't miss a day of eating
no one really cares
if I'm at the table or not

all I know
family isn't the life for me
negative and hate
no
love
no
trust
empty nest of sorrows

with the family I have
who knew

God
gave my
mother

a daughter to love
instead
all it is to her
is hate after hate

I tried and I tried
to do the best I can
nothing seems to please
her

what is it with her

I look up
to the sky
and ask

God
why
oh
why

I'm a girl
with four brothers

why was I chosen
to be a
girl

the only one in the
family
a
family
of
hate unwanted love

no one cared no understand
what life should be
all I know

in time
I needed to get away
for the purpose to survive
a life
to
wonder

only person that cared in my life time
my
loving
Grandmother

which we call her in
Italian

Nonna for Grandmother
she was the life
she was the love to who I was
she gave the basic love
taught me who I should be
but still
deep inside

I learn to
hate
shame
dislike
myself
to who I am

I blame myself for being born
into this World
that is so big and wide

I kept to myself
no
friends
empty nest of nothing
I spare the moments
in my room
that's all I had
four walls to look at
growing up

does anyone out there
understand
does anyone
understand the meaning
of being depress
the word
depress means many option and detail of a person

I found out many years ago
as an adult
I suffer from trauma mental illness

my illness I will tell
Bipolar
I have many other illness
do to being abuse
life seems so hate full
for
45yrs
now 47yrs old
almost 2yrs now
January 27, 2013

will be the actually date
of
positive outlook
to who I am
I've learn to love myself
within my own spiritual way
the outlook came from someone dear to me

a love that came
so dear so close
who knew I would find
a soul mate so far
yet so close

he gave me the life
life to live for
not to be afraid

he open the door
show me the way what life should be
he game me the option
to be who I am
like always
and wanted so dearly
for the years that gone by

life change to who I am
cause of him
he gave me the love that is so simple and basic it took
that long
to found that true love

I ask myself once again
how did I manage to fight within myself
became something more
for myself and to give what is given to me

help
I got
I took
I kept on going
the skills to understand
now I am brave
I have someone beside me
telling me
do not fear
I am hear for you
he came me the option
to take what is given
he gave me all
and still does
until this day

love came to me
for real
no lie
no false pretend what a man should be
he is the original man
that is raised
by
a fine beautiful mother and father
and
family wise
what a Blessing to find out

never been love that way in my life time
it is amazing what life can turn out to be

I am who I am
until this day
I stand tall and proud of my man
he makes me look amazing
every time I'm near him
I see all within him

so within myself
I don't run
I don't hide
I don't cry
all I know is

obstacle I fought
came a life time of happiness to express
my thought's in many ways
to who I am today

Darkness within myself
is within the light
of
a
man
who gave me the tools
to find
what life is all about
love and life

now 47yrs old
Victoria Kiely Mar 2016
For a long time after, I hated you
I avoided saying your name or thinking about you
I pretended that what had happened wasn’t real
Or that my feelings were just blown out of proportion
Or that I didn’t exist

And then
One night
I reached
Across
My bed
For you
And you weren’t there
And I only hated that you weren’t there

I cried because I didn’t want to want you there
And I don’t want to need you
But every day I’m struggling to keep you out of mind
And I try so hard to keep on hating you
But I don’t, I don’t have the energy to hate you

Instead, now, I miss you
And instead, I hate myself for missing you
louis rams Apr 2015
he Was an abusive man and led her by the hand
Took her to a room and beat her till she was black and blue
In fear she didn’t know what to do , so she called the
ABUSIVE HOTT LINE – they told her to come in and she’d be fine.

With this group there was no hesitation
They filled out the reports and took her to the police station.
A restraining order was filed to protect her and her child.

He had done this many times before and they let him walk out the door.
No others had filed charges against him and he’d walk out with a grin.
But with her he could not be within fifty yards
Otherwise he’d be charged.

The ABUSIVE LINE is open to everyone
Don’t wait till they have a gun.
The abuser wants to be in control of your mind, body and soul.
To them it’s the greatest power to control your every hour.
And put fear in your mind and keep you meek so you stay in line
No matter where you live you will find an ABUSIVE HOT LINE..
Reach out while you can and get yourself a helping hand.

© L . RAMS 041415
Emma Chatonoir Aug 2013
Happiness hurts
You see her with someone else
Smiling a different way
Than she ever did with you
You see her with someone else
The one who gave her more trauma
Than she ever did with you
But now you bleed regret
The one who gave her more trauma
Now stole those moments from you
But now you bleed regret
That she never shared them with you
Now stole those moments from you
The kiss and the dates
That she never shared them with you
For fear of getting attached
The kiss and the dates
You wanted to give them to her
For fear of getting attached
She ran away
You wanted to give them to her
Give her the dream she wanted
She ran away
And life sounded like dream pop
Give her the dream she wanted
Of a caring guy with a big heart
And life sounded like dream pop
The happy kind
Of a caring guy with a big heart
She twisted it deeply
The happy kind
Of deadly torture
She twisted it deeply
And once she left her impact
Of deadly torture
She blew a kiss and a diss
And once she left her impact
She came back to that abuser
She blew a kiss and a diss
To anyone else she had met
She came back to that abuser
And let him take your place
To anyone else she had met
They couldn't compare
And let him take your place
Apparently he had some big heart too
They couldn't compare
To someone who got a personality transplant
Apparently he had some big heart too
But all you and I saw was it was fake
To someone who got a personality transplant
But only she could see it
But you and I saw it was fake
An act to win her over
But only she could see it
As a meaningful beginning
An act to win her over
Just to tick you off
As a meaningful beginning
To the ultimate screwover
Just to tick you off
They kissed at first glance
To the ultimate screwover
To tear you up inside
They kissed at first glance
That was farther than you had been
To tear you up inside
To make us want to scream
That was farther than you had been
Your world had crashed
To make us want to scream
Every time we saw them
Your world had crashed
Our sky seemed torn
Every time we saw them
We hoped it would be the last
Our sky seemed torn
You were barely holding it together
We hoped it would be the last
Time before it ended
You were barely holding it together
Wishing you'd enjoyed
Time before it ended
Back when we were beautiful
Wishing you'd enjoyed
The meaning you once had
Back when we were beautiful
Before the intruder stole your princess
The meaning you once had
Was less but meant more
Before the intruder stole your princess
You thought of it as nothing
Was less but meant more
Once you saw what could be
You thought of it as nothing
But secretly it was invaluable
Once you was what could be
You wanted it that way
But secretly it was invaluable
To see you be jealous of him
You wanted it that way
It was nothing but a heartache
To see you be jealous of him
It was nothing but a mistake
It was nothing but a heartache
Cause he took her
It was nothing but a mistake
To want to tell him that
Cause he took her
And she was actually happy
To want to tell him that
She deserved to be sad
And she was actually happy
With the attention
She deserved to be sad
But needed to be wished well
With all the attention
She had never felt it before
But needed to be wished well
And gain experience
She had never felt it before
Though other guys touched her paralyzed skin
And gain experience
She said he was the first
Though other guys touched her paralyzed skin
She felt nothing more
She said he was the first
The way he made her want him
She felt nothing more
Than joy around him
The way he made her want him
Seemed unhealthy at times
Than joy around him
Was pure ecstasy
Seemed unhealthy at times
But if it worked it worked
Was pure ecstasy
To have the feeling of being loved
But if it worked it worked
No matter how upset you were
To have the feeling of being loved
Have you ever felt that before
No matter how upset you were
It seems there was nothing
Have you ever felt that before
Where gold was worth dust
It seems there was nothing
Where dust was worth gold
Where gold was worth dust
And yet you were okay with that
In a world of attraction
You were a moth to a flame
And yet you were okay with that
When your wings burned off
You were a moth to a flame
Smiling a different way
Her sadness cures the pain
Happiness hurts.
Part two came sooner than expected.  More to come at a later time.
Kora Sani Aug 2018
"Why don't you love me?"
I owe you no explanation

This happens every time
I'm filled with frustration

My feelings are sacred
They're only mine to hold

I'll tell you if I want
An ordinary man can be so bold

You're not entitled to my heart
You're kind of a loser

Stop thinking with your ****
Such a routine abuser

An unwanted kiss is placed on my lips
My "no" means "no"
Forget the traditional scripts

Your masculinity is showing
And not in a good way

My mind is made up
Please leave it that way

I shouldn't apologize
But look what I'm doing

Another man
Always endlessly pursuing
Murredith Apr 2017
Realisations of common knowledge lurk around us like shadows in the darkness.


Don’t close your eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn a corner too quickly. It’s just the wind. It’s not the same car. It’s too big of a city to find you.

Dear authorities, what are you doing to help?

People from generations before mine have raised their children to be hateful. They have taught them that if they don’t feel like respecting people, they shouldn’t and won’t. I’m sure you’ve guessed this next one, but they’ve let their children get away with a smack here and a smack there to those who don’t obey their every demand – and even to those who do. But I am not the only one. I am not the only unlucky punching bag to experience the hatred of someone much older, more mature, wiser and certainly, not just a kid. Is that it? Is that why you let him go? I was four when it started and fifteen when it ended. To you, that’s a child. Children don’t know much, do they.

Dear authorities, that’s where you’re wrong.

I was four when it started and if you think it stopped at fifteen when my abuser walked out, think again. It never fully stops, not yet. I am nearly twenty years old and I still flinch if someone holds out their hand for a handshake or raises their voice just a notch because they’re a little out of earshot and I needed them to repeat.

Dear authorities, I can’t live because you won’t let me.

Oh, you like Budwiser? Corner Gas, the T.V. show? Do I smell steak? Potatoes baked on the BBQ? You need a plumber? Handyman? Oh look, you’re wearing red. Do you think I appreciate being reminded by the stupidest things, that my abuser is out there? Why is that? Could it possibly be because nobody has bothered giving the man any possible discipline?

Dear authorities, I’m tired of being told, “it’ll be okay, it’s not that bad.”

People after people have continuously told me to go talk to someone. I’ve seen multiple counsellors, doctors, talked to teachers, specialists, friends and family. But what are you doing to help? I moved away from my mother and siblings, in fear. Fear, because every time we moved anywhere the lawyer told us we had to give our address to the abuser. We could not deny him access to us, we could not cut off communication with him. I had to leave, as an attempt to protect myself and hide in a big city with lots of people and hopefully I could blend in.

Dear authorities, you have failed me.*

Stop telling me things will be okay, when he is out there and things only seem to matter when a death occurs.

Dear authorities,

Dear authorities…

Dear me, you’re not dead so authorities don’t care.
I originally posted this on my blog & today decided to post it on here as well. If you'd like to see the original on my blog, you may view it, like it, share it or comment on it, at https://onebigmilestone.wordpress.com/2017/03/07/first-blog-post/?preview=true.
Kassel D May 2013
you dug your teeth in like an animal
savage and deadly
your claws helping tear open the wound
as you poured in your poison
you used to be so kind
or at least it's how you looked in my eyes
but with every passing day
a piece of your mask faded
revealing the skin of a monster
and although i was warned
and told to run
seek refuge
hide
i did not fear you
for i thought i knew you
but all you ever did was lie
and make believe you were the prey
while your predatory gaze kept a watchful eye

how quickly you sprang
how vicious your jaw
how easily i fell

and somehow it was my fault
somehow i was wading
****** and torn
in a river of apologies
unsure of the meaning
always searching

in time i learned your ways
and i froze
waist deep in the river
unable to swim to the shore
and become dry
because you cried
because you filled my ear
with sweet whispers of "i love you"
i believed you
so i stayed

but now as i lay freely
staring up at the sun
feeling its warmth
on my newly healed wounds
i realized that you never loved me
because love is not a violent word
7 months
Achick Jun 2020
No one wants to hear about the aftermath of survivors of domestic abuse.
But Everyone loves to hear a good story. The story of how she had the courage to leave. Everyone wants to hear about all the horrors you had endured. The violations, the violence, the control. They want to hear everything in detail. They want to hear as so they can feel it themselves.

But what they don’t want to hear is the aftermath and healing. After you tell them your lifetime movie stories of the heroine that survived. They just want it to end there. Like you would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, a fairy tale.

After you get away you move on to the next stage. This stage is remembrance and grief. No one wants to hear this. There’s no excitement. This is the stage where survivors again, are supposed to shut up and heal in silence. because if you don’t, then you’re seeking attention.

But what if I don’t want to shut up. What if I want to shout all my anger from the roof tops until my lungs are empty and my throat is on fire?

If you do, then the world will look at you as if you’re too aggressive. Like you’re not a true survivor.

The world thinks no survivor should be angry anymore. That survivors should just be grateful that our war is over. Is that how I should see it , as if I’ve won.

Oh please Society, tell me; what did I win?? What exactly is my ******* grand prize??  

Congratulations Alex you’ve won memories that stop you dead in your tracks, dreams of revenge against your abuser putting him through all the suffering you had to endure, You’ve won the feeling of being completely alone and not even being able to trust yourself.

So that’s it? my ******* grand  prize is PTSD. That’s what I should be thankful for.
**** that ****.

I can’t even tell anyone what exactly I’m going through because people will think I’m feeling sorry for myself.

I’m not.

I don’t feel sorry for myself at all.
I’m angry because I was controlled. I’m angry because I don’t fit the stereotype of a domestic abuse survivor. I’m angry because i can’t talk about it to anyone except my therapist. I’m angry that I have to look and act like I’m happy all the time. When actually that’s exhausting for me.

I’m angry at the fact that I’m angry all the time.
I’m angry that I’m looking at what I just wrote down and thinking to myself that’s a lie. When it’s not. I’m angry that I can’t be honest with myself.

I’m angry that I have to learn how to not be angry. I’m angry that I have to do all this and my abuser gets to do nothing but be his selfish pigheaded self.

I’m just angry.

It’s not like I plan to be angry all the time. Being this angry gets to be exhausting too.

I am noticing that therapy is helping. I’m not as angry all the time and things make more sense now.

But I’m still angry.

I’m trying to write down exactly what I feel in this moment and write down what is exactly going on in my head.

All things that I don’t get to say.

So what do I have to say?

What do I want to say?

I’m mad at world for not caring about survivors as much as they say they do.
I hate those stupid motivational memes on facebook like “god helps you be strong” or “Jesus walks with you through hard times” my *** he does. And those memes don’t mean ****.

And all those people that share awareness but do nothing more then click a like button or share a post ******* too. You’re just as bad. You don’t care about survivors.
I don’t see you down in the trenches helping those in need.

I didn’t see you, when I was going through the hardest time in my life.

And ******* too professor storyteller. All that ******* of I help survivors and my heart bleeds for them because my own mother was a survivor.

I tried opening up to you and you completely dodged me.

I had faith in you and you let me down.

I needed help.

But my emotions was too much for you handle.

You like how people see you as a knight in shining armor when there is crowd.
But when it came down to put up or shut up you completely ran away.

So you get the biggest middle ******* finger I could ever ******* hold.
If I had a billboard I post it for the world to see.

I hope I stay in your mind for all your days as the truth of who you really are.

You and I both know that you’re a beacon of light for all liars with false hopes.

You and that high horse you rode in on can go ******* into the sunset.

You should be exposed for every time you step foot into a domestic violence meeting or awareness event as the coward who ran away.

You should be seen with a scarlet letter.

You’re worse than my abuser.

You offered hope when you had none to give.

You lied to me and you should be held accountable for those lies and the false hope you spread.

Like I said the world doesn’t want to hear a word of our grieving and healing stage.

They only want the juicy details like gossip.
So who’s really the aggressor?
I feel like I should explain this rant. I wrote this back in January when I first started therapy. This is my second oldest piece. I was very angry. I’ve grown a lot through mindfulness and therapy. I just felt like I should share this with the world. Just so everyone can see that our battle is not over, even after we leave.
Daniel James Dec 2011
Lost in the land
Of pretending to be grand
Saving their conceit
For their nearest and dearest
Every malignant narcissist
Has two middle names:
One is "Abuser"
The other is "Slanderer"
And they live in the shadow
Of a deep, unbearable shame
That makes them shameless.
She was, I guess, contagious.

      An epidemic to people's hearts.
      It seemed her face was everywhere,
      just as scattered as her thoughts.

She was addicted to the thrill of it.
Watching people fall.

      She would fill her syringe with their longing
      and send the needle between her toes.

It was clear she was a ******
and she knew her veins would surely burst.

      How much can you take from someone else,
      before you realize you lost your self worth?
Writing exercise #2 from my creative writing class.
Casey Risk Feb 2018
Step 1: bow to your partner and hope they bow in return this is the first of many false acts of kindness you will receive
Step 2: move forward. A dance of this variety will require close quarters, and may result in attachment
Step 3: hold on. Get used to your partner leading. It’s time for you to be less than, that’s what you are. A scar left on them because you, you are the one to blame, right?
Step 4: glide right. You’re right they say shes left but you know they’re wrong. This song is on repeat and you know the only way to stop is take a seat but if you want to do that refer to step 3 this dance is not optional.
Step 5: follow her when she moves back the threat of her leaving somehow makes you stay. The day is not done. You are not about to lose her you are not about to be the cause of destruction you are not about to break a heel trying to pull away so balance on those sticks you call shoes
Step six: go left. your partner is right and you can’t question a rhythm.
Step seven: step back
Step seven: evaluate
Step seven: is your chance
Step seven: your body says run
Step seven: your feet are frozen
Step eight: hold onto your partner, you must get used to her leading. She says Do not stop dancing, not even if the music stops.
Step nine: who are you to question, glide right because she hasn’t left
Step ten: move forward, it will take her aback. Somehow you’ve found a way to lead
Step eleven: now you are the one who has left, but that does not make her right
Step 12: step back. Turn off the music. Bow.

— The End —