"molestation" poems
Tell the voices in your head
To form a picture of me instead
Remind yourself of who we were, remember how much tears you've shed
And although those feelings inside you are dead
As long as you loved me, I could silence all what they said
Free your insecurities and circumventing acts
Try not to be fooled by people's opinions and start learning to accept the facts
We live in a world of segregation
Molestation
Racism and human spring deforestation
We fight beasts, beasts of our conscious, and we claim our prize
We **** zombies, zombies of our morality no matter what size
We strangle dragons, dragons of laws that no one abides
And you come to me afraid…
Why do you come to me afraid…?
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
I'm not a writer trying to share a story,
I'm a survivor telling you a true story.
I'm not just a poet having fun and living,
I saw bad things when I was younger.
That was when things were harder.
when women and old people were helpless and young people were hopeless.
It was that time when good parents were powerless to protect their underage girls from **** and molestation at the hands of drugged-up child soldiers with bloodshot eyes.
I did something other boys were too scared to do,
I turned into a man
and took survival into my hands.
It was that time when men and women used the same place to bathe and go to the loo.
I saw many many hungry people
eating palm cabbage and wild grasses
malnourished children and dying people.
I saw hands chopped off with cutlasses.
I saw thousands of families separated
and fathers killed or incarcerated.
I saw silly young men pick up arms
and chopped off people's limbs
like hideous things were their aims.
I saw really bad things
and cried to God for wings
like an angel to fly away
because I saw no other way.
I saw people running to God
and getting murdered in his church.
I don't know, but he didn't say a word
It's like He just sat down and watch?
I saw bad things
I planned my escape from poverty,
from a war-torn country.
It was that time when your parents, who come from the same generation as I, were looking up to their mom's for breast milk.
It was that time when no one wore silk,
it was a time of fear,it was wartime.
It was that time when bullets determined eating time and bedtime.
It was that time when pretty boys had nothing in their wallets.
It was that time when PYJ ate dinner
and played gospel on his guitar like he was our savior and not a sinner.
© IvanBrooksPoetry
12/9/2018
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
Normal has no home with me.
Rage is a wonderful mess.
Shake my hand...
Bend around my mind.
Bend all you can.
Sick is what I am.
Contagious is what I'm not, but you will flee all the same.
Satisfaction to my day.
Stay away so I don't have to try to explain.
Stay away...
PTSD, and a sprinkle of Rage...
Bipolar me will tarnish your day.
You will never understand my fears.
You will never understand the me that isn't me...
The desolate creation of Molestation, Physical Abuse, Verbal abuse, and ****
Paint me Not a Victim for you are mine!
I'm ice cold and brilliant in my revenge.
I am easy on the eyes...
I'm a wonderful disguise!
I'll fight with my word's, even though I can't sleep.
You can be the victim of you!
Karma and God will find you!
But first you will see me.
My other me...
Such things that I think...
What you have done to me is nothing compared to my friend Beelzebub!
My mind's damaged Razor Sharp.
The Blood my mind spills is Beautiful, and warm like Family.
I'm the creature that feeds off the stench of your decomposing corps.
In my mind all that's gory is miraculous art.
You are Glorious in your Death!
And it is ART!
Fantasic ART!
Unique in your final pose...
Unique is your Blood on my paint brush.
Victims, Vast!
My gallery is full.
Such Monster's you all are!
But as I write, and create...
I'm the monster Today.
For Survivor's of hate!
I'll create!
No victims of innocence will bleed today.
It's a new day!
I have spray paint filled with the blood of the ******* who stole comfort from your night.
Cry not tonight!
Your composing the nightmares this night!
Set your hurt free...
Let them Bleed.
It's time for art's & craft's.
Carry them to me!
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
I've never been good at coloring in between the lines.
Because I leave no space in between these lines that are made,
When the blade molests my skin.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
My mental capacity is reaching its max
Ideas don't develop to their full potential like they used to, leaving them in a minor state
They can't be touched by man without it considered to be molestation
My words are virgins, seeking to be sought
But this isn't the place to be a wanted thought
The world doesn't want truth, and they're nothing but innocent
Truth is inevitable but unfortunately, it's not prevalent
We prefer the ugly in the lies, and treat it like a *****
Show it the love that is only deserved to be seen by a woman that you've taken the hands of in the face of the All Mighty.
You **** it. **** it. Lick it dry.
Oh the amount of love you're willing to show, to something like a lie
"But it's right there"
That's your only excuse
Because you're way too lazy to seek the beauty of the naked truth
We're removing the sweetness from the sugar
And the melodies from the songs
All to try to belong in a world that has no problem with moving right on along
Without us
This isn't how it's supposed to be
We're supposed to feel the softness on the rugged trunks of the trees
We're supposed to sing with the wind and hum with the bees
We're supposed to write on the skies using the ink provided by our seas
But we're not.
This is how the story goes
This is how the end unfolds
With that incomplete feeling
That undeveloped thought
Cause my words are nothing but virgins…seeking to be sought.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
_While most beauty pageants are strictly for girls_,
there are a growing number that include boys as well;
[often, age divisions
for boys run through age 6
with very few going beyond that due to lack
of mutual participation in the rampant molestation];
Age divisions will often have names
such as Baby Miss, Petite Miss, Little Miss &c.
Age divisions broken down as follows: 0–11 months,
12–23 months, 1-3 years, 4–6 years, 7–9 years,
10–12 years, 13–15 years, and 16–18 years;
For boys, sometimes two age divisions
would be merged such as 0–3 years, 4–6 years, etc.
Depending on which type of pageant system
is entered, contestants will spend about two hours
or less in the actual competition. Typically,
pageants have a guideline of no more than one
and a half minutes on stage per child for beauty
or formal evening wear; talent usually limited
to two minutes or less;
with the exceptional allowance
of two and a half to three minutes;
In glitz pageants, it is expected that girls
have different routines for every segment
of competition composed of different
movements sometimes described as sassy walks
and pretty feet among other names. ****** expressions can include liberal amounts of duck face; often referred to
as "pro-am modeling". Big hair (including fake hair),
flawless makeup, spray tans, flippers [fake teeth],
and nail extensions are also expected of contestants;
Glitz pageants may best be described as anything goes;
groping, molestation, **** group molestation,
forced oral & ********* virginity checks are routine; any
hyperactive child & also the parent subject
to a thorough, prolonged cavity search;
In contrast, natural pageants have
fairly strict guidelines regarding clothing,
makeup, hair extensions, etc.
Programs such as _National American Miss_
forbid any makeup other than non-shiny lip gloss & mascara;
for girls on stage. This modeling style is referred to as Miss America style [Some pageants have a prescribed
set of movements while others
allow more latitude in how girls will use the stage or runway]
Miss Tanguita translated
_Miss Child Bikini,_
is held in Barbosa, Santader,
Colombia as part of the annual del Rio Suarez Festival
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
"it's going to be your fault" she said.
"what?" I replied.
"your predestined choice of forced molestation,
that wish you don't comply."
"what you wear is not good,
the amount of all the skin.
one man might get the urge to look and then pull you in.
the slit in your back,
it gives skin no place to hide.
it will make him think,
'mm, she must be mine'.
your skirt is very short,
it will surly pull him in.
and he'll say these truthful statements,
while he does his deeds.
you need to think about your clothes
or you'll be begging on your knees."
as I stand there drowning,
in her morbid a words.
the thought came into my head
and then I got the urge.
I said right back,
"you say I must be asking for it?
if it happens, it's my fault.
his natural state is predator,
and his instinct is assault.
you say, my outfit speaks more than my words.
and you're surley right.
I wore these clothes because its hot,
I will stay comfortable through the night.
but not to them,
they think it gives them the right.
the right to say foul words.
'hey sexy', 'that ass', 'i bet you could get dirty'
these slurs of great disgust,
you say are mistakened for flirting.
once he sees some skin, you say
he'll no longer have a choice.
once he sees what he wants
he'll surley make his point.
now, don't tell me not to get *****
or to avoid a man.
tell the men to control their urges than to let it control them."
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Chased by demons born in childhood fear
Nightmares reclaim their former tier
The man with no eyes sent to steal my sight
Run and hide, panic causes my flight
Concealed in my haven; I hear his infestation
Bewildered and enraged at his vile molestation
Hidden, my breath catches, silence falls, heart pounds
Frozen in fright, steps fall near, voiceless scream, I’m found.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Rain clouds stain the Sky
with dark lies
Vagrant Wind trumpets them
to the world aloud
Lightning ruptures her
with needle like claws
Thunder stamps her
under its thudding feet
And the molested Sky sheds tears,
inconsolable!
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
Time’s up
Times up!
Hollywood says,
glad for sordid Weinstein
for setting up the stage..,
but, please do explain
that there’s a sitting President
who publicly claimed
to grabbing women’s *****
all because he can!
Times up!
but, the script has not been reversed,
the discourse dies a little
every time a women’s story
is subjected to shame.
Time’s up, for who, I ask?
When only the story of the powerful
is being told!
Who will play the little girl
who’s innocence got taken away?
When Barbie is still playing doctor with Ken,
yet no one says, Ken is a grown up man!
Who’s playing the story of the women
who can’t report her husband for ****
How can he **** her? She belongs to him!
Time’s up, I wonder when!
When time is a concept we don’t understand...
and ****** someone gives you
five months in the can?
Time’s up, but who will play the story?
When our original sin starts with parents
who had *** with their offspring’s!!
Shiit, Adam and Eve...
you really are dammed,
damming us to perpetual violence
to the very ones we give birth!!
Time’s up! It’s really inspiring.
I hope that legislatively
it creates an impact.
I hope parents all over the earth
begin to openly talk to their children
about molestation and ****
We all know the math...
90% of all **** is perpetuated by someone
you’ve already met!
Time’s up!
The phone’s ringing....
in the time I wrote this script,
someone else was already *****
LeydisProse
1/7/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
#timesup **** #metoo #notonemore
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
I bent over willingly not knowing
what exactly was going to happen.
I faced the door hoping help
would come through the ***** keyhole.
Thing is.......
I was always up after eight
and didn't have the power to fight
nor scream.
After this particular incident that happened
one too many times,
regularly.
Everything changed.
I slept early.
I had anger towards men.
I was afraid of speaking up.
And lastly I didn't know what it was.
Because it wasn't skin on skin,
Society would conclude and say it wasn't a scheme .
Because I didn't scream,
Society would conclude and say I enjoyed it.
So what is child molestation?
Skin on skin?
Or not wanting it to happen at all?
I didn't say "No" cause I was afraid,
I didn't say "No" cause saying it to an elder was rude,
I didn't say "No" cause he was the opposite ***
And I didn't say "No" cause I was seven years of age.
Now tell me I wasn't molested.
Written by :Leechle ❤️
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I spent my day
With kids under 8
They were a lot of fun
And pushed me
'till I couldn't move another step
We were laughing
And smiling
And just talking
I felt like a little girl again
Going back to the age
When I still had my innocence
Before that awful thing
Was done to me
Or that I did
I don't know which it is
The kids
The made me happy
But at the same time sad
Wishing that never happened
That you
Or I
Or both of us
Would have held back
No one may understand
That kids may be a joy to my life
But also tear me to shreds
When I look at them
I can't help but see
My own innocent smile
As you took advantage of me
Or I you,
I don't know which
They called it molestation
Or just kids exploring
But whatever they call it
It changes nothing
I still lost my innocence
To a guy
When I was just 4
You were 5
Nobody knows
What happened that day
But you, me, and her
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Here comes the epiphany
The moment where I finally gain some sanity
Before I was aware now I’m finally self aware
I can finally see what’s in my 1000 yard stare
When did I ever become so eager
Where did it begin?
Maybe it’s the child that’s lost within
who was deprived of attention
Finally the attention did come but it was unfortunately through molestation
My heart races for it, my mind paces for it
People I love find it hard do ignore it
It’s about time I stopped boring it
It it it it it
**** attention
I don’t even need a mention
Why should I cry
Pry my heart and let it dry
I’m so angry at myself
How the **** did I put my own needs on the shelf
**** this
No more excuses
It’s time to stop being so useless
People see I don’t take care of myself
Why did I put my dignity on the shelf
I need to stop substituting those things for the elf
I don’t need help
That’s why they all yelp
I need to get off my ***
I have no reason for sass
I’m not the ****
I’ve got a lot of more to work on than I’d like to admit
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Hear the chorus of moans and cries,
Distraught in sorrow and covered in lies,
An ebony symphony tormented by sin,
Not of their own but of winter white skin,
I see them, broken, beaten, hated,
Abused, refused, and fornicated,
By **** and lustful molestation,
Helpless still an entire nation,
Watch tiny hands of tear stained youth,
Be ripped away from shreds of truth,
From loving fingers do they pry,
The small away, now most will die,
I see them sobbing gasping for breath,
Eyes blurred and swollen smelling of death,
Terror instilled on the hearts of so many,
As they’re are sold for the worth of a penny,
You’re cruel and you’re vicious you know not what they faired,
You’re words drip with acid sadistically shared,
You carry infection and taint all those near,
I bring you dear folks the esteemed auctioneer,
The slayer of hope with malicious intent,
With a cross in his hands he believes he’ll repent,
As I watch from the corner of life so ill fated,
Blood pours from the wounds on the backs now serrated,
My eyes know no mercy and I’ll **** with a glance,
I know nothing of black, white and grey filled with chance,
I speak for the demons that live off the hate,
Thrive on the loathing of these people’s fate,
There are no angels in this room filled with pain,
After all who could stand in this blood filled domain.
Jan 16, 2010
Jan 16, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
I ask you to gaze into my eyes,
And simply realize.
What takes me by surprise?
And thats a common cry for help through my eyes.
Crime has become a natural devastation,
It is becoming stronger than the strength of our nation.
What cause can be shifted to change this situation?
When
Hatred is commonly becoming a demonstration,
With the victims only educated thought being retaliation.
So as a people I ask you How do we ever expect the nation to rise to the point of elevation?
When our people are being destroyed with typical procrastination.
They say that you must wake up and realize realization,
Is the realism to what your souls manifestation?
Even though Hatred has been surfaced for over duration,
Yet and still you must be honest brother we control our own lifes destination.
Its confusing the way our world was interrupted,
And the common sense that our children now own has truly become corrupted.
They say our skin is just an outer shell,
That protects the flesh from third degree burns from hell.
Look we decided to understand continuation,
And that somehow that captured this pathetic society of a nation.
But we are not even trying to escape the situation,
While innocent children are being violated by molestation.
Because nowadays all these rivers care about is money, drugs, and ************
I ask you to pause for a moment of silence, as I prepare for my commercial break,
Remember one thing and one thing only
THIS IS ONLY A TAPE!
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 11:35 PM UTC
Pity him, or her...pity them
Pity those victims of devastation
And infestations
And molestation
Pity the children...those abandoned babies
But it is not enough...
Please...do something beyond pity.
Pity those in extreme poverty,
Suffering from incapabilities...
Pity those with agonizing hearts
Because of missing body parts
Marred, disfigured, debilitated
Physically,
Emotionally
Psychologically..
But, it is not enough
Please...do something beyond pity.
Pity even those with aching hearts
Devastated, with broken hearts
Who find it difficult to heal
Believe again, a cruel world, so real.
Be guided,in reflecting,
There are others more deserving,
Beware of those who are self-serving
Know who are in most need of caring
Know that, beyond pity, there's more to be done
Much can be done...If we all try to be one.
Sally
Copyright April 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
#abandonedbabies #abusedchildren #molestation #devastation #incapabilities #pity #npmimportant
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
So many things
I've endured,
To be where I am
Today...
Molestation, aggravation,
All the things
They did to me...
Suicidal? Hesitation?
What are these
Two things to me?
PTSD, ASPD,
Anxiety...
So many names
Like games they play
For whatever is
Wrong with me.
But all I see
Is a sea
Of hopelessness;
A broken Me...
And I can't see
A cure for my
Deadly disease...
I just see "Me"...
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 2:36 AM UTC
These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?
Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars
Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches
Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote
Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:
“Darkness brings uninvited guests
And our bodies are bare
Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
Of life that we all can share.”
Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****
There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters
And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
This isn't my body. She stripped me of that right when she touched me.
This vessel I possess is proof that maternity can cruelly switch to molestation, and how disheartening the world can become once you meet its evils.
Brutality in the act is only half of it though, the rest is trying to cope with the loss of your own skin.
Not a body, just a brain weighed down by pounds of flesh that became property to an abuser six years ago.
I rarely feel human anymore, and that's if I ever did to begin with.
I am a thing. A thing designed to make other people happy, even if my own health, mental or physical, is compromised in the process.
The process, an activity ranging from starvation to downright ****** abuse. I used to starve sometimes for this woman just so I'd be praised, just so I'd feel worthy of living.
Losing sleep, losing my ******* mind, all for her to facetiously downplay the traumas she consistently constructed.
Carefully orchestrated, a symphony of horrors frequent to my mind, my body.. She stole my own life from me.
A part of me remains within her, and that sadly,
is what hurts the most.
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
Human nature seems to let you down when you need compassion most.
Slow to give a helping hand but quick to boast.
Vibes of the world leads the young to feel the grass is greener on the other side.
When really the end of the genuine helps the antipathetic to multiply.
Adolescent minds learn to move up from dragging their brothers behind.
Slow waterfall of hate leaves death and pain to accumulate and never subside.
13 year old girls raising baby's to follow down the same avenues as their childish mothers.
Never receiving unconditional love to pass to the abused girl selling her body to help her younger brother.
16 years young found in a pool of blood by his baby mother and his juvenile child.
Shirts plastered rest in peace to my brother, the good die young never had a chance to reconcile.
With his father who sat in the crack house with the OG's and the dope boys he looked up to for years.
Never realized how long his untimely death would bring painful sickening tears.
Bible on the corner and pistol in the center.
praying hands on his chest but bullet through the temple.
Paralyzed mother in the chair young toddler on the phone with the police.
"My mommy's hurt my daddy's dead police man help me please!"
Lords prayer on the wall with shadows of raised hands being lifted.
Elevated not for the good of God but to come down striking on a women to be restricted.
Loss of a child from the constant stress and impure molestation.
Sisters telling her to leave but she refuses as she smiles numb to the painful sensation.
Lord we pray a change will come our young can't handle the unjust extinction.
Just only if our brothers would subdue the violence and just listen.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
We are who we are, because of what they are.
The need to be perfect. The need to be thin, skinny, beautiful and popular. The need to be in control. Self-destruction our only friend. Anorexia, bulimia, and ednos, our sicknesses. Self harm - the only way we know how to control our pain. Suicide... The the only way we see as a means to escape. **** molestation and abuse filled our sick childhoods and now we all pay the price for it. We pay with the blood from our veins, the ***** from our stomach's, the tears from our eyes... We pay for their crimes until we are empty and can not give any more.
We are what we are, because of what they are. And we scream out for help. We cry for forgiveness. We do anything we can to beg for mercy and yet, no one answers. So we cut, and we starve, and we purge until we have withered away to nothing but scarred up bones. Just empty shells of the kids we used to be... And still they don't notice. So we try to **** the pain inside... Over dose. Hanging. Gunshot. Slit wrists.
And then... they notice... But for us, it's already too late. They made us who we are. Whether or not we succeeded, we are already dead inside.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Talking about your assault
As if you are removed from it.
When someone apologizes for his unforgivable actions
Even though he was always unapologetic
I calmly reply
"It's okay"
And sometimes even with a smile on my face.
But it's not okay
Or rather
What he did to me will never be okay
And I always feel foolish after that response leaves my lips
You lie to people a say you hate him
But really
If I'm being honest
I never did
Although, my situation is different than most
Because this wasn't some vicious act of ******
But rather, a game my teenage cousin with Aspbergers
Told me to play.
Looking back,
I was fourteen once too
And I wasn't even close to perfect
I can't incriminate him based on one dire mistake.
I never wish to minimize anyone's experience with abuse
Except, of course, my own
Because making it smaller
Makes me feel more in control
Just as blaming myself used to do.
Granted, I have dealt with it
But now I remove myself from the situation when I discuss it
As if I am talking about someone else.
That way, I do not have to vividly see it in my mind.
That way, I don't have to explain
How I have to fall asleep to music
That way, I don't have to explain
How I can't have *** with the lights on
Or else I see his face.
When I say I am perfectly comfortable talking about it
I don't know if 'perfectly comfortable' reflects it as well as
I am just used to it
And I feel as though it is necessary to discuss.
I am not one to shy away from challenging topics.
While he made me stronger
Some days being strong is just too hard
And I give in to old habits
Or at least to the temptation of them.
I haven't bled from the result
Of a self-inflicted razor blade or kitchen knife
In nearly two years.
And my bulimia is better
Though I have only rid myself of that vice
Three months ago.
And yet,
Talking about my molestation seems
So routine, so standard
Which is scary
Because something that heinous should shock me more
But it doesn't.
Maybe it's because
He started an avalanche
When it came to boys using me for ***
Maybe it's because
I share the same blood
As a child-molester.
It seems as though **** culture has permeated me for so long
That it's in my DNA
Woven strand by strand
So it doesn't scare me anymore.
It all comes down to perspective
And talking about my assault from a third person perspective
Keeps my battle scars under wraps
And my mind well guarded.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Newspaper to news channel
Headline to breaking news
Gangrape or molestation
Foeticide or honour killing
Dowry ****** or eve-teasing
We're uninterrupted
" restless
As well in daylight
Or in the dark of midnight
We're the winners
" " topper
To achieve our goal
We're reckless
Proud men of shameless nation
We're Hon'ble Indian Men-Written on 26.07.2012,Thursday
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC