child abuse

Last chat with mum; aged 24 (me, aged 24)

Last chat with mum; aged 24 (me, aged 24)

By jfarrell

 

“now he’s dead, I gotta ask….

“was he my dad? Truly???”

…. “yes”

 

This is my mum responding….

Her and the ‘truth’….

If she told me water’s wet and leafs are green…

I’d have to check….

….my mum truly believed her lies…

Really…

 

She didn’t get kicked out of the milkman’s house…

1 am in the morning

And walked home naked with her 7 year old daughter screaming at her

What a w……. she was…

No….

My ‘dad’ was flirting with the barmaid again…

….

I was there; I know what happened…

 

But,

She really, truly believes her lies.

 

“was he my dad?”

“yes”

….

 

Deep breath…

Disappointment, anger, relief?

Who knows?

But….

What I asked next was really, REALLY stupid!

A very bad idea…

But

How could I know?

 

“Ok… ish… he’s my dad…”

 

Long silence, couple of minutes?… less?… more?…

 

“what happened back ‘then’? when I was 5? 6?

When uncle brian raped me?

….….

….. we haven’t spoken in nearly 10 years… what you all did hurt….

What happened?”

 

“your dad told me you’d raped your cousin”

…...

“i was 5…?… 6…?….

…. I wasn’t even physically capable…. 5…6…”

 

 

“that’s what your dad told me.”

 

A couple of deep breaths, from me…

Several seconds…. a minute or two…

Felt like f…. centuries….

 

….”and I believed him.”

 

NOT an added aside, an intentional thrust with a stiletto…

Not an attempt to move in for the kill…

On an already injured, badly bleeding target…

No….

She was just being honest.

 

….OK…

 

“nan, uncle peter…. di…..”

“well of course I told them about it!”

…..

At least I had the sense to shut up then and not ask if that’s..

What she told her friends…

 

…..

 

Haven’t seen or spoken or had anything to do with my ‘mum’

Since that day…

Over 25 years ago…

I will be 50 in a couple of weeks…

My anger, bitterness, hurt….

…..that little mother to son chat….

Is killing me

Poisoning me, like a virus …..

That hate, anger….

Wanting to hurt back…

 

….

Maybe my mum had mental health problems….

I don’t know….

But..

To so totally, absolutely believe… agree…

At 5… 6… years old…

“your son raped his cousin”….

 

I don’t totally believe that’s the WHOLE truth…

I will happily call my scumbag ‘dad’ a lot of names…

But.. ‘Liar’ isn’t one that would be honest….

….

 

…”and I believed him.”….

 

I don’t know….

Have spent all my pointless life trying to imagine….

WHAT I DID….

That was so bad…

That…

At the age of 5 or 6….

… my mum hated me SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much,

“and I believed him.”

 

 

Maybe she’s right ;-)

After all,

Who knows a man better than his mother?

 

I wish I could forgive and forget…

I wish I could be a son….

I wish I had a mother….

…..

And,

I so wish I wasn’t me…

But…

These are the hands we are dealt.

 

Sadly….

 

I fear my bitterness, anger….

Absolute f…… rage…

…after I die….

My hate will continue.

….

Other than my mum, who can rot in hell…

 

 

PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL YOU LOVELY WONDERFUL READERS!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

20 years of therapy, 40+ years of pain and bitterness..

poetry is a salve, a poultice, i could never have imagined....

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incey wincey spider

 

Incey Wincey Spider

By jfarrell

 

Incey Wincey Spider, climbed up the water spout;

And when you fell a sleep; he got his stinger out;

And when you woke the house, in fear and alarm;

Incey Wincey uncle says… “I wasn’t doing any harm.”

 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

My younger sister, I wonder how you are;

So many years, we’ve been apart;

Like a lead-weight in my heart;

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

My younger sister, I wonder how you are.

 

Three blind mice, a coward dad

See how they run, see how he drinks;

He beats his wife because she cheats;

He beats his kids because he’s weak;

He blames the drink, but it’s his fists that speaks;

Three blind mice.

 

Ring-a-ring a roses is about mass death, disease;

Baa baa black sheep is about taxes;

All nursery rhymes come from somewhere ‘orrible;

Somewhere far darker.

 

Just a thought…

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

the story behind nursery rhymes is remarkable, don't think there's any horror story behind twinkle ttwinkle little star, but bba bbaa black sheep was about taxes, and cant remember if it was the plague, or turculosis for ring a ring a roses, hehe

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In loco parentis

In loco parentis

By jfarrell

 

The October, before my CSE’s…

My ‘parents’ went on strike;

My children’s home was closed, overnight….

Very violently.

 

I cut my ties with my family, that night; forever;

And my coursework, homework projects and text books

I didn’t realise the ashes floating past me was my future;

I didn’t even know a fire had been started.

 

Who’d worry bout all the ‘A’ grades they were expected to get;

Who’d say goodbye, forever, to mum, dad, and younger sister?

Who’d be so arrogant? So stupid?

A 15 year old kid, scared of growing up to be his dad?

 

I have always been my ‘in loco parentis’;

You see a nearly 50 year old man;

I am 6 years old, trying to talk my dad outta beating me

Learning that the ‘very free sweets, toys and comics’ have a price;

 

 

My parents were not fit enough!

And the children’s home…. I need parents… politics? Strike?

In this world, this life, that has never made any sense….

How have I done? As a parent?

 

I think, I’d have had me locked up, long ago.

 

Not fit, to be near children….

Or anyone.

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wasn't much of a brother when our children's home closed... or long before then..

my staying away from her and her family now, makes me the best brother ever...

but, it doesn't make it right

and nothing ever will...

sorry..

this is poetry, not psychotherapy, or drunks are us....

i reeeeeeeeaaaaaallllllly love you... go on, give us a kiss....

 

;-)

 

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The effects of child abuse on you

The effects of child abuse on you

By jfarrell

 

I speak of me and my experiences and abuse;

I have no right, or claim, to speak on behalf of others;

Hopefully, this echoes what they may say

And explains why you must listen and stop child abuse.

 

The effect on me;

I cut myself off from my family, my sister;

I didn’t want to pass the abuse on, and I had started;

No friends, alone all my life.

Depression and several suicide attempts.

 

The effect on you, society, tax payers;

My being in care cost upwards of about £500 a week, back then

Double that, my sister’s in care with me;

The years spent in therapy,

In mental hospitals, in A&E after suicide attempts.

And that’s not mentioning the 20 years spent on the sick;

Too ill to work.

 

And that’s just me.

Thousands, tens of thousands of pounds of your money;

Spent on helping me overcome my pain and become a ‘survivor’;

Trust me, in my shoes, this ain’t surviving…

 

And I’m a ‘safe’ victim;

I can only internalise what I feel and hurt myself;

I can’t hit others, get high on crack and turn to crime;

Get drunk and beat my wife and kids like dad did;

I’ve never taken the risk of having a wife and family.

Having no-one, I can hurt no-one.

 

What we go through does affect you. Now and in the future.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

our parents don't mean to **** us up, but they do - i don't rememeber the poet's name, Phillip Larkin?, but, words, so true

national poetry day

 

 National Poetry Day

By jfarrell

 

 

 

KEEP RUNNING!

The stinking tendrils of ancient decayed flesh envelope you,

Engulf you in a nicotined-coloured fog;

Your devil has arrived, demanding payment.

              - horror

 

The moment I saw her face;

It was like a thousand rainbows shone;

All the stars of the heavens bursting into life again

My heart was hers. I would die for her.

                    -romance

 

There was a miserable sod, wrought from Bermondsey;

Dark clouds, thunder; all his life followed he;

But, when to ‘Wales’ he went,

A promised holiday was the event;

A ‘pain in the bum’ was all he received.

                -limerick

 

My madness has made me a god,

Or, maybe, I’m just a conceited sod.

                   - couplet

 

In the shadows, I watch and I learn;

The deep longing within me burns;

To love one, such as you;

And I know my love would be true.

                -rhyming

 

Why poems?

I offer five reasons, five themes, five experiences;

Today is National Poetry Day.

Thank you for coming. Please enjoy your stay :-)

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

happy national poetry day :)

Forgotten Son

Forgotten Son

   By jfarrell

(inspired by a Marillion classic)

 

I got taken into Care when I was 11;

Mum and dad visited once,

Then couldn’t be bothered to visit again;

At 14, I stopped visiting them.

 

At 19 I visited, what a mistake that was;

24 was the last time I went back;

And, at 49, I will never see my mum again;

I won’t put myself through that rejection, that hurt.

 

I am the Forgotten Son;

Not prodigal; not lost, mislaid;

A dozen times a day I must think of my mum;

I doubt she’s thought of me once in the last 25 years.

 

I should be more forgiving;

I should be the better person;

But I prefer to remain the Forgotten Son;

Invisible; never born; nothing but a bad dream.

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i should be more forgiving - i choose not to be

Failure to communicate

Failure to communicate

   By jfarrell

 

When I brought the form home from primary school,

I was scared of being in trouble at school;

So, when my parents couldn’t be bothered to fill out the form,

I did it;

5 or 6 years old,

And my dad beat the crap outta me

Coz I couldn’t read or know what ‘bronchitis’ was.

My failing to communicate.

 

Paul, I can’t hold it anymore, we gotta stop -

It’s only another 6 feet -

BOOOM,

Bugger I dropped the shed wall.

My failing to communicate.

 

My keyworker is supplying me, a 12 year old boy,

With hardcore pornography and taking me out on special trips

To have sex with girls from other children’s homes;

Can I tell the officer-in charge?

Who’s last place of work was closed down amongst abuse allegations;

He was on the news.

My failing to communicate.

 

Might also explain why I have no close friends,

And I find people ‘difficult’; unexpectable;

I fail to communicate;

Or maybe, I see no-one to communicate to;

And the last time I did try to communicate,

The recipient couldn’t be bothered to listen…

 

Hmmm, my spider senses tell me,

There will always be more questions than answers.

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

communication breakdown, it's always the same

 

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turn the tv up

Turn the TV Up

By JFarrell

 

You hear my dad shouting again, drunk;

You’ve heard it before;

You know what comes next;

And what do you do?

Turn the TV up.

 

You hear the first slap;

My mum screams,

Followed by 2 or 3 muffled thumps;

And what do you do?

Turn the bloody TV up.

 

You hear him start on the kids, shouts, slaps;

Muffled cries, screams…

Ah, finally, silence, they’ve stopped.

And what do you do?

Turn the f*cking TV up.

 

 

You see the bruises on my face the next day,

As you have many times before.

You smile and are polite, as if you don’t know what happened, you are complicit.

What you SHOULD have done, last night,

Was turn the f*cking TV off and call the police.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

a personal one that hurt a lot, but it NEEDS to be said

shush, our little secret

Shush, our Little secret

By JFarrell

 

Do you like sweets?

Do you like comics?

Shush, our little secret.

 

Do you like flying kites on the heath?

Or, riding boats on the lake?

Shush, our little secret.

 

How about seeing your first football match?

Or, your first camping trip, in Wales?

Shush, our little secret.

 

Now, it’s your turn.

 

The sweets have a price.

Stroke it, just like that.

Shush, our little secret.

 

Flying kites, in the park,

This public toilet will do,

Shush, our little secret.

 

Wales? Camping?

Shut the f*ck up and take it!

Shush, our little secret.

 

And, now, it’s my turn.

 

Dad says “what happened to you?”

I say “nothing.”

Shush, our little secret.

 

Mum says “what happened to you?”

I say “nothing.”

Shush, our little secret.

 

I ask “what happened to you?”

I say “nothing.”

Shush, our little secret.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

uncle Brian was a scumbag, what else can I say?

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