Welcome to a place

Welcome to a place where words are unspoken,
Dreams cease to exist, and promises are broken,
Welcome to a place over run by hate,
Safety has died, and only fear reins,
Welcome to a place where screams go unheard,
Love had fled, and has been replaced by hurt,
Welcome to a place where anger rises above all,
No one cares to catch those who fall,
Welcome to a place where no comfort is found,
Those who are broken dare not make a sound,
Welcome to a place where the weak stay hidden,
Having thoughts and feelings are forbidden,
Welcome to a place where pain has become a drug,
Addiction to abuse, addiction to cuts,
Welcome to a place where one looks forward to the end,
Ones only escape is death,
Welcome to a place where a friend is a knife,
Welcome to a place, that is my life.

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'Twas The Night Before Awareness








'Twas the night before awareness,

When all through the world,

The people were waiting,

For a magic wonderland to unfurl,

A sense of entitlement,

Covered the land,

Like a snow in the silence,

All possessions in hand.


Flowers are mulicolored,

Some vegetables have a strange hue,

The skies are polluted,

And the waterways are too,

Our lying little mouths 

Speak only of money,

And love is just something

When using words like "honey".


Teaching kids to expect,

That life will be easy,

They find out it's not,

And start living it cheaply,

Whine and complain

About their ways and behavior,

Giving them pills 

That don't work in their favor.


Sense of entitlement 

With morals askew,

This is me...

And yes, this is you,

Neglecting the things 

That are felt with the heart,

Buried in shame 

Real love hasn't a start.


Pain is a signal 

We learned to numb up,

Imbalances rampant,

We've all now cracked up,

Sensitivity is beautiful,

But pain has real purpose,

And it doesn't exist

Just to feel sorry for us.


But roses are so red,

And violets so blue,

In this world we create,

When we have eyes like a shrew,

We're the little old drivers,

Unable to see,

We're at a party with Alice,

And we ain't sippin' tea.


Addicted to poison,

We bid a good-night,

In hopes that Saint Nick

Will make everything right,

Our wondering eyes 

Have created a fear,

We can't possibly face

In a world we can't steer.


Pill after pill 

Dream after dream,

This is the way

That we kill self-esteem,

Removing the blinders

A wise thing that is taught

To do otherwise,

Is how we bury a thought.


Stress can be lethal,

And imbalance will thrive,

There are pills that can actually

Keep you alive,

But that doesn't mean

To ourselves we should lie,

And that pain, pain,

Will go away,

No pain, is something

That is here to stay.


4:33 PM 7/20/2013 ©


Inspired by Allets



Author's Notes/Comments: 


Just a little about how pain is always there, and what we focus on, is what we will get back. 


Coffee Stained Phone Bill

I'm pining in Limbo. 

Becoming derecpit and swollen in the damning Vestibule. 

Scintillating, squirmy memories of goey boredom that laminated me with a spackle brush; and happiness that came and went so quickly,

it should have been sold to me in a bottle. 

Cigarettes and college jerseys cleave to my naps like a fitted sheet.

Sleep, big woman,

sleep away your worries for your tinkling, cocaine babies.

Sleep little man.

Rub your nose on your corduroy pants.

Do your duty, child.

Lock and load.

Do not tear your tongue away from the window of the bus. 

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A Cage With Open Doors

Autumn had stolen all the leaves 
all day I held you close to me 
nights you passed beneath her sheets 
as I lay awake with gritted teeth 
bandaging scars gently 
Silence held its forceful grip 
tightly pressing on my lips 
softly smothering my soul 
with the weight of harboring burning coals 
Child that I was, I loved you with all my heart 
but misery and I were never far apart 
Child that I was, I believed in all you said 
how I yearn for childhood now 
but my childhood is dead 
Wrapped around your finger 
you wore me like a prize 
You laughed as I would linger 
amused by the sadness in my eyes 
Each time I tried to become strong 
you melted me in the warmth of your arms 
how I so believed you'd change 
you stole too many of my days 
a bird forever locked away 
in a cage with doors made of shame 
bolted down with self made chains 
a lonely cell for the weak to stay 
until courage created a flame 
burning down that horrid place 
still the ashes brought no smile to my face 
years and years away, 
I am still that bird, locked inside your cage 

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Real Life

She was a military woman, a depraved childhood,
Hidden in the closets of her parent's small apartment,
Most of the day feeling ashamed,
Escaping into fantasy, was all she understood,
Grandma brought her fresh flowers from work when she could.


In the fall one year her father lost his job,
And mom became depressed and did little but sob,
At the age of 18, with nowhere to turn,
She joined the military thinking a trade she might learn.


The things she witnessed were nothing she expected,
Leaving her torn, dented, and disenchanted,
The raping of her soul by the men of honor were often,
Once again tormented, only a role to play, 'the soldier in action'.


Then her prince came to her rescue, and marry she did,
Before the bullet to his brain left her lonely, him dead,
Four small children lost their father that day,
How would she support them, or even make her own way?

Losing her wits she donned grandma's example,
She buried the casket alone, as the whiskey was ample,
She would face this head on, and carry the weight,
Of the childhood shame, isolation, and rapes.


Everyday in her struggle, she now fought a new war,
Her friends with benefits from her nights at the bar,
Her need for self honesty grew bigger each day,
And slowly but surely, her patience gave way.


It had now been only 2 months she buried her man,
The pain took control and our new life began,
She came home one day and the liquor took hold,
All the pain from a life's burdens began to unfold.


Her baby said, "Mama, can you read me this book?"
She lost all awareness, and gave her a look,
Her inadequate nature is all that it took,
She lost all control and her body shook,
The fairytale story flew into the wall,
The baby was shaken against the whitewall,
Again and again and again and again,
Blood spurting all over the rug, wall, and den,
Now this tragedy's taken control of us all.


It's been 20 long years since I've spoken to mother,
My days fill with diapering a 30 year old child,
The brain damage baby sustained in the event,
Will never change how my mom's fairytale went,
My other two siblings do well for this life,
We've been dished out reality...slice by slice,
One thing we all learned about handling stress,
Is that whiskey sure makes it much worse of a mess,
Now, on my way home from work I pick flowers,
I sing songs to baby and take up our hours,
With all that's befallen our lives from that day,
I've placed fairytales in their place, and that's where they will stay.



3:48 PM 5/9/2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of many stories about how tragedy happens in many families born into poverty.

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The Lady With The Tragic Past

I met her in a therapy group,
The woman who had the tragic past,
She spoke with lots of knowledge
On things like 'self esteem' and 'well being',
And I thought to myself,
'Wow, she really has it all together now',
I thought, 'You would never know',
She worked for a support line in the local town,
And everyone looked up to her...


She often spoke of predators of a sexual kind,
Mostly when someone spoke up in the group
About a bad experience,
Like about when they were 10 and played doctor with their siblings,
Or when they touched an intimate part of their body,
With another child in their age group,
And the wise woman with the tragic past
Would always be there...to remind them of how bad
The other person was,
And this freed the group member of guilt,
And soon they would join the wise woman
With the terribly tragic past in her mission.


One day a member of the group spoke up
About how her parents taught her what oral sex was,
She said it confused her terribly,
And the wise woman with the tragic past stood up,
And became indignant about such awful parents,
How dare they confuse and abuse their 13 year old child
Without permission from the moral majority
And status quo of prominent psychotherapists in the town,
And the police were called immediately to arrest the predators,
And everyone felt a little sorry,
And the group member felt ashamed to have such horrid parents,
Now under the impression that they didn't really love her,
But that they just pretended to.


The wise lady with the tragic past would do that,
She would be there like a dear protector,
She took it on as a mission in life to get every last predator,
And with her experience and grand knowledge about abuse,
There was never a need for her to see proof about a predator,
She knew what other's intentions were without them knowing,
Because she just knew exactly what a predator was,
She didn't have to ask,
Everyone knew she knew,
And everyone trusted her judgement.


Once, when I was 6 I fell off my bicycle
And hit my head on a rock during a race with other kids,
I passed out and woke up on the neighbor's couch
With an ice pack on my head, and people around me,
All very happy to see me awaken and be ok,
And there were no predators that I can remember,
But there wasn't anyone like the lady with the tragic past there either,
And everything turned out ok,
I was better the next day, riding my bike down the driveway
In the same way I had the day before,
Having lots of fun like kids do,
And now I wonder if I would have ever got on the bike again
If the wise lady with the tragic past had been there.


Takes one to know one maybe.


10:22 PM 5/8/2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

When the abused becomes predatory without even realizing it.

The Lucky Ones.

Pain and Heartache

I watch them in the park,

The Lucky Ones.

Whose parents hug them tightly,

and wipe faces with thumbs.

I am jealous of them all,

with their happy little smile.

I wish that I could take their place,

and have them be me for a while.

I watch aghast as they get angry,

staring dumbfounded as they scream.

"I hate you, Mommy. Go away!"

all over being denied ice cream.

I wince inside myself,

braced for their punishment they'll get.

But it never comes done,

nothing like the pain I've met.

I watch as they cry,

screaming I don't want Burger King.

I wait for them to be hit,

smacked or kicked... SOMETHING!

But it never does,

and I feel sick inside.

Why does their happiness grow,

as mine slowly died.

I love to watch them be dragged away,

finally treated like me.

All the while complaining

and saying stop I have to pee.

Then they disobey again,

and run off towards the swings.

Slipping away from their parents

and jumping off of things.

Then finally they get caught

and I watch them cry.

Their parents pick them up

saying tell your friend goodbye.

They bound over and hug me

I squeeze back a little too tight.

Wishing all over again

that I could be them for one night.

Too have mommy hug me

and daddy shower me with love.

Bedtime stories and warm cookies

for their little dove.

But instead I must go home

to face my papa's fists.

While momma drinks to ignore my cries,

and cigarette smoke settles in like mist.

Then I wish anew and once again

that I was like other daughter's and sons.

That daddy and mommy would change,

But i guess that's just for the Lucky Ones.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its about children who are abused looking at other "normal" kids and wondering why they can act out without being punished and wishing they could lead their lives. Basically its about being grateful that you have parents who care enough not to beat or mistreat you

Inside the Closet

D. E. A. F.

We stare into the black abyss

A world surmised by nothingness.

The only illumination is from under the closet door,

and your only companion, the cold hard floor.


You hear them scream, you hear them yell.

But they can't find you, and the dark will never tell.

Curl in a ball and press back against the wall.

Too afraid to answer their call.


We are small and filled with fear,

We cannot sob for they may hear.

We don't want to feel the slap of their palm.

Then have to lie when teachers ask whats wrong.


When they drink like this there is no reason.

And the slightest infraction will bring on a beating.

They'll yell in your face and you smell it on their breathe.

It smells like desperation and it smells of death.


We used to think being in the light was fine.

Until they beat up our body and shattered our mind.

Here in this space, with its absence of light.

Where no matter what time it is the middle of night.


We will stay here, stay safe, and hide away.

Not listening to apologies and lies they say.

It's cold on this floor, without a blanket.

But it still is safer than coming out the closet.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's another poem about abused children. Who were so abused they believe its better to live in the darkness than outside it.

Its also connected to my other posted poem "They Call Me It"

Feel free to read that one also and give feed back on both

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Powerless Pawn

Love Hurts

I am a powerless pawn

In a dangerous game

I am only a victim,

With no reason or name

I am his captive

He holds my fate

My future looks bleak

As he closes the gate

No one can see this

No one but me

My bonds are invisible

They think I am free

But loving him

Is not a choice

It’s demand on my heart

It strangles my voice

I live in terror

I fear the worst

And although he assures me

That I’ll never be hurt

I don’t believe him

He’s said this before

Once I had faith

But I don’t anymore