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Posts Tagged ‘poetry about domestic violence’

Tommy’s Daddy

The first grade teacher explained,
Daddies are different, none the same,
“Tommy, tells us about your dad”…
Wanting to refused he got mad…
Mommy told him never to say..
But teacher said he had to today…
Knowing he’d be in trouble if he ran…
Looking at teacher, he quietly began…
My daddy is huge, tall and strong…
Says everything mommy does is wrong…
Hits my mommy, makes her cry…
Most everyday I don’t know why…
Knocks her down on the floor…
She hit her head on the door…
Says he’d find her if we leave…
Claims he loves us, I don’t believe…
Leaves bruises all over her face…
Said, if I told, I’d get a taste…
Room got quiet, for they knew…
This isn’t what their daddies do …

Poem was printed with permission from the talented author
Angela Hutcherson-Jenkins

she offers many poetry books free to download and hardcopies for sale at  lulu.com/xeson

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I wrote this poem six months ago when someone pointed out that our first real relationship sets the tone for future relationships…it made me think of my first relationship at the age of 15 which lasted 3 years…and this person sadly lingered for an additional 3 years in my life on and off…I was searching for somewhere to share it and came across this site…I hope it helps someone…

Abuse and lies…no more…I am worth it!
by Luz Barbosa
http://luzestela.tumblr.com/
http://luzestela.tumblr.com/

he tells me not to look that way
he tells me not to dress that way
he tells me not to talk that way
he tells me not to act that way

he smacks me
he tells me I better shut up or else
he tells me I am worthless
he tells me my no’s are meaningless
he doesn’t care that I don’t want to or that I am crying

he tells me he loves me
he tells me I am his and I will always be, that he owns me
he tells me no one will ever love me like he does

he tells me I am stupid
he tells me I am a hoe
he tells me he will kill me

he sucks the life out of me

I finally had enough
I could not continue to live this way
I realized these were all lies
I decided this behavior was unacceptable
I finally got out

I was young
I didn’t know any better
I kept it to myself
I was ashamed
I lived in fear

I refuse to be controlled
I refuse be abused
I refuse to end up dead

I deserve to be safe
I deserve respect
I deserve to be loved
I deserve to be happy
I deserve to be free to be me
I deserve to be treated well

I am worth it!

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I have read too many articles of abused women, tortured children, men killing men, women killing men, mothers killing their children and more. Then I hear of a child killing a child and everyone says, “My God, how could a child do that?” Do we really wonder why or should it be why not!

Tonight I looked at a paper my son wrote when he was only in first grade. I had been separated from my abusive husband for less than 6 months when my son had to write what he was dreaming about, sounded like a nice assignment for a young child, but not mine. I was sick to my stomach when the school called me in to review this paper. It was a picture of a child sleeping in bed and the assignment was to write what they were dreaming about. I am sure for most kids it was playing and having fun, but my son’s stated, “I am running and someone is trying to stab me in the back. This is not a dream, it is real.” My heart sank and the faces of the staff in the room were not good.

I had to explain to the school that my son was not in any danger now and that his father was removed and their was a restraining order, something some of the staff already knew. This was when I first realized that my son needed counseling and that I had defiantly stayed too long. Many people think that well if the abuser, man or women isn’t hitting the children and they don’t see every physical attack that the children will be fine. I am writing to tell you, that you are telling yourself one of the biggest lies a parent can tell.

My son is now 18 and he still suffers with P.T.S.D. which we all knowing means he is still traumatized from things that happened in his past. The nights when he was barely 3 and his father sat him on the kitchen table and told him to say by mommy as he held a knife to my throat or the time we were held hostage on my son’s bed as his father stood at the door with an axe, describing how he would chop me in little pieces and hide the body. Even though my husband smiled and joked with my young son at the time these images were forever etched in his young mind.

I write this so many years, maybe 10 years after living a daily life with the threat of harm and promises of death and when I hear someone say, “Why doesn’t an abused woman just leave?” To this day it still makes my skin crawl.

Maybe I should have left (could I have left) that night, or the next night he threatened me. But I didn’t. Butcher knives were thrown over my head and I knew God wouldn’t let one hit me tonight. I believe this was during the OJ Simpson trials. The trial brought so much pain into my life.

My husband watched the trial every moment of the day. He was drinking all the time and combined with the drama of the trial my life became even worse. He would cheer OJ on and call Nicole a cunt, getting what she deserved.

When he turned to me and said, “This is how you are going to die and I will get away with it. No one cares, can’t you see that?”

Looking back I know the answer to why doesn’t a woman just leave. I have said time and time again, I stayed so long because I feared dying more than I feared leaving. I would not leave until I feared staying more than I feared dying. Fear and the threat of more kept me in seclusion from the world for most of my twenties. I have been along and away from this man now for over 10 years. The physical threat of him was gone after only 1 ½ years of having him removed from my home but only because he died of a heart attack. The mental threat of him really only left my mind in the last year. I fear it will remain forever for my son.

Even years after my husbands death he frightened me at night, lurking in a dark corner or jumping from the closet in my room, something he enjoyed doing to remind me he was just nuts. He would wake me from my sleep jabbing me with a knife and telling me to scream because by the time the cops got there he would have killed me and would not care if he spent his life in jail, it would be well worth it.

Fear and the threat of more is what kept me in this abusive home. I was threatened for so long that I learned to cope hour at a time. We understand this statement for a drug addiction but not for a battered women? When you are being abused, mentally, physically or in any manner it starts out slow then becomes your life. By the time the abuser, most times, becomes their worst you have been conditioned to think this is normal. As long as you learn not to upset that person you think it is a good day. Eventually there are no more good days and you just die inside. You move threw the motions of your life and you learn to walk very gently on the eggshells of your life.

I had been convinced he would kill me if I left. I was told this over and over and not having any place to go I didn’t know what else to do. You don’t have the normal coping skills the rest of the world thinks you should. You are trying to get through the day without upsetting your abuser or getting hit. Too many phones had been ripped from the walls for me to ever think that I could call for help.

My point if there is one today is to leave before the children end up with a lifetime of horrible memories. I don’t care how young the children are they will remember and they will suffer from your choices. I had thought well at least I left when he was still young, at 4 ½ what would my son really remember. Sadly, his memory is better than mine at times.

All of these years later I am so thankful the final straw came when it did. I finally sleep like you should, peaceful and not fearing a knives will be jabbed at my throat that night. The best part of being free from an abuser is the freedom to have your own thoughts and opinions and being able to share them. You realize that you can change your life, have big dreams and sunny days. You don’t have to life in the darkness of another. Those days have finally arrived for me and I really do wish them for you too.

Let the sunny days arrive and you will survive. All I ask if that you let that horrible past make you a stronger person. Don’t let them define who you are but allow them to make you some of who you are. I have had family say, let that be in your past but what they don’t understand is that those horrible years made me the woman that I am today. I am strong because of them, I am determined to support other men and woman that have been abused to move on from that life and to have all that they dream. Being abused doesn’t make you weak in any way, but finding a way to escape that abuse makes you one of the strongest people that I know.

With My Sincerest Love,

Rebecca

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I am posting the following poem from Allie, a blog writer and reader.  I am told the author is unknown and do my best to find out who wrote it.

__________________________

I wanted to share this poem with everyone, because I feel it is important for everyone to know that it is ok to get involved. The more people that get involved the more we can prevent abuse. I feel the best way to show someone that you care is to help them even if you are not directly involved.

She was such a pretty child, as pretty as could be.
The blondest hair and bluest eyes, this little girl of three.
She lived next door and I would often see her play outside.
Putting all her dollies in a wagon for a ride.
I often thought how beautiful she would be when she’s grown.
She was just the cutest thing as she played there alone.
I only knew her parents from a passing wave or “hi.”
They did not want to socialize each time that I would try.

I sometimes heard them arguing when I was in my yard.
I know the problems people have can sometimes make life hard.
I thought they were just loners because they kept to them self.
They might think I am nosy if I try to offer help.
They never bother anyone, the other neighbors say.
And the little girl can only go out back to play.
You only see them come and go, they never stay outside.
You wonder when they act like that, have they something to hide?

One day I heard them arguing, much louder than before.
As I looked out, the little girl was standing by her door.
Her little face was bruised and tears were running down her cheek.
I wanted to go over there, but I was scared and meek.
Finally when the screaming stopped, and everything was calm
I saw the little girl was being held close to her mom.
Her mother rocked her back and forth, and she was crying too.
Just standing in the back yard, there was nothing I could do.

Nothing I could ever do, would be of any use.
This mother and this little girl were suffering abuse.
She had better call someone and get this thing resolved.
But, it is not my business and I cannot get involved.
As I spoke with neighbors, about what went on next door
They all agreed, that it was sad, it’s something we abhor.
It’s something we must overlook, we cannot interfere.
But, now we sing a different tune, as we are gathered here.

The neighborhood feels guilty,
for we looked the other way.
Are we all responsible for being here today?
We feel the anger and the shame, because we all stood by
Knowing now we could have helped, but didn’t even try.
And now this little three year old, so beautiful to me
Surrounded by her dollies, just the way she loved to be
Is in a little casket, with her body limp and frail.
Her mom is in intensive care, her dad is now in jail.

The funeral home is quiet, because we all realize
The reason you must get involved is right before our eyes.
Abuse in any form is something we must all resent.
And fight with every tool we have to save our innocent.

Author Unknown

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Thank you to NightRaven for allowing me to share this poem.

Isolated  and Controlled

Why do I always stand accused?
Why are you my judge, my jury, my gray skies
That once were blue?
You say you love me with all of your heart..
We took our vows, til death do us part..
Yet, your type of love hurts and tears me apart..
I always spent my days all alone..
No one to talk to, until you came home..
You never wanted me to make friends or go to the mall..
I had to stand by the phone and wait for your calls..
My children you wanted out of my life…
You managed to succeed, never caring about their pain 
And strife..
Your favorite term for me is “I’m lowdown”..
Your tore my world apart–crumbling it to the ground..
Now I’ve left and am trying to start anew..
But deep inside I still love you..
But my heart and my mind know we are through..
You threaten to take your life..
As you no longer have your wife..
Why did you not think about the things that brought
Me to where I am today?
Instead of the isolation and control, always doing as you Say..
I walked on eggshells and lived in fear..
Every day was filled with painful tears..
Now I choose to walk away and let “us” go..
As I can no longer live being isolated and controlled..
 Copyright@2007    NightRaven

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Thank you to NightRaven for allowing me to share this poem.

Eggshells            

I’m scared, just like I thought I would be..
As I know not what the future holds for me..
I have no place to call my home..
I’m walking this earth all alone..
I put my trust, my life in your hands..
You used me and my love, you call yourself a man..
You tore my world completely apart..
You bruised, battered and broke my heart..
You don’t understand what you have done wrong..
You refuse to accept, I’m never coming home..
So many times I thought it would be easier to kill myself
And die..
Then I thought about the four parts of me, I would leave
Behind..
They shouldn’t live a life of feeling guilt. For me taking my
Life…
I never want to cause them more pain and strife..
You told me I had to choose..
This time I choose my children and my life over you..
I know I may end up sleeping on the streets..
But, it is better than living a life of pain and deceit..
As walking on eggshells I can no longer take—it’s a
Sign of my weakness and defeat..
Now is the time that I finally live life for me.. 

Copyright@2007  NightRaven   

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I would like to thank Christine, the poet that has offered to share the following poem with you.  I know you will be touched too.


I met my sister today
We had suffered the same pain,
Our trust had been taken away

I met my sister today
Which is strange as
I had never met or seen her before
But we knew each other so well
We had the same tale to tell.

I met my sister today
Our eyes cried
Our hands held the other
As we knew that the other
Would tell of things that others would only experience in night mares

I met my sister today
I could see the pain
I felt it every day
When will it go away?

How do I tell my sister
That it is ok to be loved, to be held,
To be told that she is beautiful,
To be treated with dignity and respect
When I myself feel like trash & I don’t believe these things are for me
But they are true

And one day my sister they will be for you

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