"unreported" poems
I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.
My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.
My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.
My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.
My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.
My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
**A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
such on death certificates.
More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
religions and at all levels of education.
About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
the horrible cycle of abuse.
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
psychological disorder.**
And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.
And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?
When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and **** and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?
I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
I tilted my head . I wilted and was dead -
No longer entangled in this snare called life -
none the less remembered, respected
Dejected in my illusion -
Where i wander most often, unclaimed and disillusioned -
Whatever was I hoping for-
longing in which to see -
the distorted , unreported - dismemberment of ME -
Expectations are like curses, drowning and alienating ALL who dare to dream -
The Ideals of a stranger - I am now what I seem
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
Acrostic poem
Necessity of society
Intensity of people agitation
Redefined the common man’s power
Boiling over attacks on women
Hot-tempered youth
Ashamed to say
Yardstick of behavior
Assault on women go unreported
-Naveen
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
Now:
The EMTs respond.
A Jane Doe is found dead.
Beneath the I-90 overpass.
They lift her
Zip her into a bag,
And transport her to the morgue.
They can’t feel sad.
Today:
The few wispy strands of hair that remain
Dangle haphazardly from her scabby head
Jagged misshapen teeth protrude from dry cracked lips
betraying breath that stinks of infection and decomposition
Vermin gnaw on exposed flesh while parasites feast within.
Her eyes dim as her body putrifies.
Last Week:
Mission workers prop her up against the wobbly chain link fence
A thin blanket is wrapped around her bony shoulders and
Her blue-tarp awning is adjusted
She would be less wet and cold.
For a night.
They leave a cheese sandwich and chicken noodle soup.
The rats eat most of it.
She wouldn’t have kept it down anyway.
Last Month:
The shelter is scary and dangerous.
She couldn’t sleep without nightmares and her screaming disrupted other ‘guests’.
The shelter workers apologize and put her out at 2:19 AM.
She finds a spot between two dumpsters.
It reeks of **** but is unoccupied.
Sometime in the dark she is ***** and beaten by two crackheads.
The crime is unreported.
Last Year:
The fluorescent lights sting her eyes.
The antiseptic smell burns her nose.
The noise and chaos that surround her make her dizzy and disoriented.
She fights hard to get away but is restrained by strong hands – then leather straps.
A painful jab in her arm and then nothing.
Days or weeks later she emerges in a haze.
Kindly eyes greet her.
They stay with her.
They accompany her to the shelter.
They tell her to come back for follow-on care.
She never sees them again.
Before:
The divorce rips her heart in two.
She has nothing.
She is nothing.
Her world crumbles beneath her and she crumbles with it.
Where would she go?
What would she do?
Everything has become so wrong.
Once Upon a Time:
She was happy. Joyful.
Filled with life and hope.
He was smart, funny, successful.
Together they were magical.
Perfect.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
The lives we've chosen are leaving us broken
(Do you need your)
Crammed in a corner, don't speak unless spoken to
(Blue screen covers?)
December's coming close to reignite the ghosts
Of elder superstition, mythology becomes religion again!
Marry me, my darling
We've only seconds left to go
I know I'm not the life of the party
But no one here wants to die alone!
Let sleeping dogs lie! You're kicking a
Dead horse!
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Left wing and sou-souwest.
Cheers to the masses for forgetting the past
(Sticks and stones)
Beautifully passive, raising our glasses
(This is our home)
I want to ignite you, that's why I'm spiteful
And loathing your masters, hiding in laughter!
So walk away, you harlot.
Far too tired to give you time
You're not worth the effort I made to hide in
My hope for the world to split
Let sleeping dogs lie! You're kicking a
Dead horse!
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Bury our fears in our outlets.
Last call before we close the door
Just wait until the power's down
Let it be known coast to coast
What we've hidden underground.
Drive a hatchet into your front door,
Inside us all is warrior bone
Burn up all your televisions
Destroy all your telephones!
The future shall not be distorted
No crime shall go unreported
Give it to them as you found it
Without homes, without a sound!
I'll give my words, shut up and listen:
The old ways died and no one missed them,
Don't you see your hallucinogens
Are no excuse for ignorance?
Let sleeping dogs die. You're kicking a
Burnt bridge.
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Behold the 22nd.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
They live among us.
Who am I?
We see them every day,
we cannot know.
Why me?
Working day to day,
the dead walking,
leaving invisible trails of blood in their wake.
I deserved it.
Dreams filled with running,
monsters hiding in plain sight,
burnt out shells,
devoid of human light.
Why do I even care?
Nights spent alone,
sleep cannot take it away,
no safety found in their homes,
smoldering ash,
where human beings used to be.
Maybe if I...
All avenues cut off,
seething pain turned to numbness,
the burden of the day,
phantom wounds cut to the quick,
by the time we're aware,
it's far too late.
Why am I so unworthy?
This story is as old as time itself,
speak the word,
tell this story to the forty-four percent who are still children,
they're young,
they'll get over it,
tell it to the eighty percent under thirty,
it builds character,
tell it to the walking dead born every two minutes,
it's not my problem.
When did God stop caring?
The law,
all encompassing,
all knowing,
all powerful,
what a joke,
indifferent,
indecisive,
imperfect science.
When did home become a prison?
Tell this story to the law,
tell it to the judge,
tell it to the predator,
tell it to the sixty percent that go unreported,
tell it to the ninety-seven percent that will never see the bars that bind,
tell it to the two-thirds who knew their reaper,
tell it to the thirty-eight percent who stared into the face of familiarity,
the abysmal side of human nature.
*Tell this story to the one-fifth of women in this country,
who fall prey to twisted shadows,
the hearts of man,
tell them that they are worthy*
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
A past corrupted.
Innocence & happiness is interrupted.
Evil & sin in this house has erupted.
Justice does not protect & serve.
Criminals never get the incarceration they deserve.
To do unspeakable crimes they have the nerve.
In Mexico....
To be some perverts ***
Unreported child *** crimes bestow.
Law enforcement will never know.
Low priority cases never made it to the Hall of Justice.
Uncredible witness unrecommended.
My custodial declarations untrusted.
Too many crimes to count on two hands with fingers of five.
Low lives with cheated wives.
In jails they are still alive.
The queen bee of their hive.
A trust destroyed & betrayed.
A little girls self-esteem frazzled & frayed.
In danger she stayed.
Clueless friends with daily she played.
In my bed at night beside me his sickness laid.
To sell my *** so he could get paid.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Dubai, the shiny city among dunes built by
migrant workers and their blood. Yes, this unparalleled luxury,
hotel staff smile like bright buttons, or else. Your discontent may cost them their job, suicide among migrant workers go unreported; so guests can sleep easily in gilded beds.
Dubai will sink in the sand when economic forces move elsewhere
and this hubris on the parched soil will be a historical interlude.
The wind in the night will murmur of untold suffering and
the soul of the dispossessed shall whisper words for no one’s ears
and shall be goats bleat before sacrificed on the altar of time
without end; for this is the universal law, those you enslaved will
arise and possess you.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 3:44 AM UTC
Yes,
this is another poem
about ****
Sorry,
I know you’re
exhausted from
hearing them.
Sorry,
I know it makes you uncomfortable.
****
There I
go apologizing again.
Ok. Reframe.
Start over. Own it.
This is a poem
about **** and you better
******* listen.
Ok too harsh,
too harsh.
They’re not gonna listen now.
Again.
Ok, uhh...
personal story.
One time my
best friend and I
were ***** by the same
person.
Ok wait, no...
too personal.
They’ll just pity me,
instead of seeing the
larger issue.
Ok, I think I finally got it.
To give you an idea
of the numbers,
all of my friends and I
have been victims
of ****** assault.
Great, perfect,
not too personal,
we can talk about it in the abstract
like nothing terrible
happened to me,
specifically.
That’s it. That’s it.
That’s how we can talk about.
Depersonalized,
Submerging our feelings
with facts.
Statistics are our best friend.
So here it goes:
Did you know false reports of ****** assault are
rare, ranging from 2 to 10%
of all reported ****** assaults.
That the percentage
I just quoted was
from a study that
collected data over 10 years
from reports on a college campus,
after determining in a meta-analysis of 20
other studies on false reporting that the
FBI data used was "unreliable."
Conversely, about 63% of
****** assaults go unreported.
Wouldn't it make sense
to air on the side of
believing women
then? As opposed to
casually
insinuating they could
have ulterior motives
reporting ****** assault,
political or otherwise.
That isn't an argument.
That is fear talking.
That is guilt talking.
That isn’t us having a conversation –
that’s just you blabbering illogically,
crippled by the fear you’ll be next.
You are wrong.
You are wrong!
Your arguments are baseless.
You are completely ignoring the facts.
There is no evidence.
You need to stop talking,
and politely listen.
Because you have a lot to learn.
And while we are not obligated,
many of us are willing to teach you:
The only ulterior motive women
have 'outing' people,
for a CRIME
they committed,
the only benefit,
is to make sure the person responsible
doesn't **** someone else.
And you not believing us,
you chastising us,
you rolling your eyes,
you silencing us,
lets that person walk free.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
you leave me - without a word
full of shame, living crypt
naked, empty, stripped
the next morning - blurred
hold me like old times; dreams deferred
abuse unreported; wrists ripped
you leave me without a word
full of shame, living crypt
investment and love, confidence spurred
careful tread, but into your arms I slipped
now your love comes with fees; shipped
but I, your little bird
you leave me without a word
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
There is no more mystery, no hidden gem,
No unfound treasure, no rock unturned,
No land untrodden, no holy ground,
#unfiltered all around.
No want for tomorrow, no story to tell,
No chinese whisper or wishing well,
No unheard tick of a clocks pointed handle,
No unchartered water or unlit candle.
No patience to bare just one more day,
No unscripted plays, leaving nothing to say,
No route unmarked, no map undiscovered,
No unbeaten tune, no songs uncovered.
No sitting, wandering what might never be,
Why bother wondering when google is free.
No crime unreported, yes, a marvelous thing,
But if crimes become nothings is war a greater thing?
No boundaries obeyed, as cultures melt together,
Empty replies downpour with "whatevers"
And we stand back to witness,
Life moving with such speed,
Unable to slow it, barely able to breathe!
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
The mother pearl.
Starved.
Marveled by it.
In the deep blue sea .
Sparkling precious gemstones.
In keyless entry without technology.
Treasures like feathers.
Marble statues you want to pursue.
He thought you knew.
Creepy janitor.
Endless corridors.
Vacant Lots.
Dark stairwell.
Late night patrol.
Criminals out of control.
Cereal for breakfast again in a bowl.
Foul people.
Full of regret.
With a stubborn mindset.
Don't fret.
You don't need a vet.
Let's make a bet.
You'll be in my debt.
You can try to disappear on a jet.
I'll catch you in my net.
You'll be my pet.
A mistake I won't let.
If you betray my trust.
I will do what I must.
You lost your wallet again?
All your money gone.
How sad.
That's bad.
Did you tell your dad?
I guess you really are bankrupt.
A life unfortunately got interrupt.
It's disturbing how I choose my wording.
Slime, mold, mildew.
Gross slosh.
Dreams of floating.
Lard thats bloating.
Braggers gloating.
Forget everything I said.
And all that you read.
Meaningless words that make no sense.
Confusing thoughts written.
I can't concentrate on reading what I wrote.
I blank out.
It's not in here.
Don't whisper in my ear.
The same things you said to her.
Nobody's jealous.
Relentless ranting
Annoying chanting.
You choked me on purpose.
Skipping thoughts.
Unreported crimes.
Shameful timing.
Pityless weeping.
Silent cries.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
The body of the deceased
on it's death bed it lays
the air reeks as it begins to decay
causing the evidence of ****** to fade,
No rest for the dearly departed
as long as the crime stays unreported,
maggots begin feeding on the flesh
the body rots, ceasing to be fresh,
Now the bone is stripped of skin
completely consumed of its exterior
revenge begins to spread within
it reanimates to devour it's killer's interior...
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
CONSUMED BY THE ******
HANGED BY THEIR SINS
THEIR UNMISTAKEND FAULTS
AND YET, NOT ONE SOUL CLAIMED
THEIR WORDS BROKEN AND SEWN BACK
TOGETHER WITH THEIR DISEASED FANTASIES
"TELL ME, PLEASE TELL ME IT AIN'T SO
HAD TO BELIEVE IT SO I WALK ALONE"
UNREPORTED CRIMES OF ABUSE
UNHEARD CRIES OF THE WICKED
WE ALL LOST OUR WAY
JUSTIFIED BY THEIR CRUELTY
WHAT THE HELL IS LEFT FOR ME
A DREAM DESTROYED
"ALL HOPE HAS BEEN ABORTED
INSIDE IM DEAD"
WHY THE HELL SHOULD I CARE FOR THEM
SCORNED WITH TRUTH
I BLAME THEM ALL
I COUNT THE MANY TIMES I WAS LEFT ALONE
WANTING TO GO WHERE I FELT WARM AND SECURE
THANK YOU FOR NOT SAVING ME
"CAUSE YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE DOG
YOU CAN'T SEE MY EMOTION"
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 7:15 PM UTC
Your words fall on deaf ears.
Your voice I choose not to hear.
Your breathe wreaks of stale beer.
Get away from me no one wants you here.
Away from here years ago & today.
I wish there had been a way.
To teleport or astroproject so I didn't have to stay.
Towards someone good to connect.
Of me people continue to neglect.
Evil is who I deflect.
Beauty is what I reflect.
Loneliness is what I get.
My eyes saw.
What you did broke the law.
Because of you ma kicked out Pa.
Every fiber of your being has a flaw.
Your morals are baked & your evil is raw.
Your hands are like a devil's claw.
Unfiled & unreported.
My thoughts real & undistorted.
The "mom" I disowned is disheveled
Her house pak rat hoarded.
Piles of filth & stench.
To know your face.
Ruined my past I can not replace.
Here at home of crimes there was no trace.
Police said low priority case.
Heaven has been a disgrace.
You've been banned from that place.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
Flesh, blood and natural eyes, cover up a battle that wages on Inside of the shell for human lives, personalities corrupted by principalities, realities distorted, when the truth is unreported, Biblical translations got people debating authentication, proving to me just how much they underestimating, The Holy Ghost Awakening, placing us in the way of truth too many are forsaking..don't be found in that number, Lord awake men from slumbers
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
I do not write this poem to attack men
Rather to make them understand the world in which we live
Has been turned against us woman and left us in the dark
Where ads, magazines, video games all make us out to be ****** objects with no brains
And when that dark comes he will see us no more than a ****** object
When we speak of #MeToo it is questioned
What were you wearing
What were you drinking
Did you kiss him
Did you go to his house
Did you take any drugs
The ****** assault hurts less than the accusations
When principles, parents, friends all victim blame you
The sense of wanting revenge is replaced with wanting it to disappear.
2 of 3 ****** assaults go unreported because woman don’t feel like we’re being heard.
We are victim blamed and we are tired of being treated like ****
When health education and the media are more open with consent
And rapists actually get jail time
Is when I will live in a world where I am okay with having a girl as my child
But as of right now I am scared shitless that I will not be able to protect her from the ugly
That is why I stand with the #MeToo movement
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
as I go
in
one ear
and out
the same
my brother’s kid
comes to
in the mind
of a beast
that
like any
beast
exists
as its own
memoir
of unreported
sightings
made
to chart
god
by sound
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
So to my daughter,
should any fool mishandle the wild geography of your body,
How it rides a red-running current
Like any good wolf or witch just bleed, Boo
Give that blood a biblical name
Something of stone and mortar
Name it after Eve's first rebellion in that garden
Name it after the last little girl to have her genitals mutilated in Kinshasa
That was this morning .
Give it as many syllables as there are unreported **** cases,
Name the blood something holy,
Something mighty
Something unlanguangeable
Something like the end of the world
Name it for the roar between your legs and the women will not be nameless
Hear,just bleed anyhow
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
This heartbreak was an incantation,
Rumor and influence and imitation.
Malevolent power channeled through,
Assumptions and lies deftly hewn.
Harsh runes gouged into bedrock,
Strong shoulders disfigured by stony bulk.
Fault lines grinding thoughts to dust,
Eldritch-enspelled entropy engraving rust.
Mortally wounded by arrival unreported,
Time and space... by distance distorted.
Lost and found, wreckage on stormy sea,
Seeking our love, stolen in infancy.
*
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
Shell-cased in soft power
Arms races
Like Carter
I break it down harder
Than kami wind martyrs
With ardor of green cards
Discarded
In red
Apartheids
On the rise
To Partition again
The expendable lives
Buying lies as they trend
From the ones who pretend
Like they too
Don’t depend
On the never-ending
Yellow journalist’s
Pen
Telling them
It means war’s
‘Round the corner
Drug store
Selling them
Echo chambers
Of peace and secure
Insecurities
Dangers and angers
And more
Of the brink
Of extinction
Addiction
In sync with
The small fortune,
Scorching-earth
Failed-marriage trinket
Don’t blink
Or it’s on
To the next
Recrudescence
Perplexed
By how many world hungers
To solve
Could be left
Since the right
In its free-trading slave
Not-so hidden agenda
Still plots its crop
Stockpile
Encomienda
As super-tiendas
Wal off reservation
With always low prices
Conflating inflation
Displacing the plantation
Haitian
Still shaken
By ground-breaking
New innovation
Starvation
And scarce information
Pertaining
Distorted
Contorted, deformed
Or just goes unreported
For more entertaining
Brain-draining discordant
Conformists in torrents
Stream only the terrorized-truth
Water-boarded
Reform is aborted
The right to choose
Thwarted
The norm is a misleading,
News-feeding
Horde
I abhor
As I’ve poured it out,
Sorted out
This horrid, sordid crowd
Doubting that anything reel
Is revealed
To be real
Or just part of some heartless king’s
Artifice
Art of the Deal
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
Abandoned, lies a gilded frame
Its forged glass guardian now shattered
The photo ripped out from its core
Family larceny unreported
Fraught vestiges of uproar
Child's reflections resonate in bath bubbles
The drive way desecrated
An aimless teddy and a wheelless toy car
A photo a souvenir of their time together
Entranced in a grounded life boat
An anchor now lies detached
Ghostly outlines prone on the sandy shore
The front door firmly ajar
Windows flap in the hostile wind
Chimneys spouting fungal spores
A back door overlooks an overgrown jungle
Disputes never resolved
Children like puppets on a tight rope
Collateral damage piled high
A broken family powerless in lifes high seas
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 2:11 PM UTC
In a world of black and white, they told me to put down my pride so I stood in an alley waiting for my mind to decide.
My thoughts were a mess. It wasn't just black and white. Colors were mixing together and it was a beautiful sight.
I open my eyes and let them paint the Earth. It was bewitching. They showed me how much mother nature is worth.
The world is missing out but I wonder if they can see what I can see.
Who would want to ignore this? or did they chose not to pick reality?
God created this work of art but it's been scratched by mankind. No one seems to notice but its not that hard to find.
In this colorless world, men can wave hello with blood on their hands.
It makes me shiver that people don't know that the color red will always be a part their plans.
I will not swallow my pride and pretend that I didn't see the palette they are waiting to use. I'll show the people the shades they tried to hide and power they've abused.
He who holds the palette is no artist. Too many strokes of red have been brushed yet the puddles are still left unreported. The man who likes to play God is not to be supported.
Spots of red are scattered everywhere. Yet, he chooses to look the other way. He chooses to live in a fool's paradise and it's a price he's willing to pay.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
Something in our midst
Don't want us to live
It's doing everthing in its Power
To **** and promote Death.
The media shows it
Paints the bleakest picture.
No wonder
Their are suicides
No wonder
People want to get high
No wonder
People want to escape
When the only future they see
Is a Lie.
That's what You want, that's Your work:
To create despondency, estrangement, dissolution;
Create divisions, create rich and poor---
There's a War right away!
You've got everyone all over the place,
Everyone at variance!
That's Your Intention---generating disorder,
mayhem, HELL!
Never relenting!
Forceful through the centuries.
But
Out there
In dystopia
Infinite good acts eventuate
Unreported, ignored, rarely
Brought to light
Because
The light we live in is darkness,
Never
To be confused with The Night Sky.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC