They call me "It"

They call me it,

I have no name,

I am only five,

My existence fuels their shame.

When company comes,

In the basement I hide.

My father must maintain,

His honor...his pride.

One day I couldn't stay,

I really had to pee,

This was also the day,

father started to beat me.

The company looked at me,

but their eyes held disdain,

Such a dirty "it" as I?

We belong in the rain.

Father smiled at their jokes,

said I'd been playing in mud.

Did they recognize his crazed look?

Or his eyes shot with blood?

Right then I feared father,

though i can not explain why,

I hid inside the bathroom,

suddenly afraid I would die.

I heard the company leave,

the closing of the door.

Heard Father shout "IT!",

But i cowered on the floor.

He burst in the bathroom ,

i gave a frightened shout.

He slapped me hard across the face,

when i tried to get out.

I curled in a ball,

while he beat me with his fists,

I was covered in blood,

from the force of his hits.

     It was an hour before,

     Mother could pull him away,

     I still remember their groaning noises,

     right until this very day.

 He calls me it,

I have no name,

I am only ten,

my existence fuels his game.

For the past three days,

I have sat and cried,

My mother killed herself,

she left me...died.

One day i heard a door slam,

Father was back from his drinking spree,

That was also the day,

father started raping me.

He walked into the room,

then he told me it was okay even dried my eyes,

I could barely speak,

nor hide my evident surprise.

The look in his eyes held no love,

yet no look of disgust,

Only a look of hatred,

and a demonic lust.

Leaning in close,

the corner of my mouth he kissed.

All my protests of how wrong this was,

he eagerly dismissed.

Then Father did things,

no man should do to a child of ten,

From that day I swore,

i would never be taken advantage of again

But my father,

He would still come every night.

And beat me...

until i couldn't put up much of a fight.

I can only bite my lip,

bide my time,

And hope one day,

that revenge will be mine.

 He calls me it,

I have no name.

I am only thirteen,

my existence remains the same.

My stomach aches,

it also grows,

Each day it continues,

it never slows.

I keep throwing up,

I cannot eat,

I have swollen ankles,

and aching feet.

One day a lady walked up,

and knocked on the door,

she told me i didn't

have to stay there anymore.

I opened the door and shouted,

tempted to give her a hug or a kiss maybe.

She gasped at the sight,

of my belly fattened with a baby.

I told her we must go,

before Father comes home,

because then he would never,

EVER leave me alone.

I had my baby,

but I sent her away.

to a family with a woman,

who would allow her to stay.

Before giving her up,

I made one request,

that she be treated like a child,

not an unwanted guest.

Before they called me it,

they gave me no name.

I'm 16 but was born at home,

and no longer a victim of father's game.

Now out of my fathers clutches,

I have gained identity,

You may not call me it.

But you may call me....Free 

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nightlight1220's picture

WONDERFUL! If people only

WONDERFUL! If people only knew... Right one with that title. 'if lucky children only knew', and make it about gratitude.


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "

 

DazedByLife's picture

Ill definitely write one with

Ill definitely write one with that title