Child Abuse Awareness Month.

photo credit http://fess2.blogspot.co.uk/

Today is the last day of April and I have to say I am glad. Everything I have researched, everything I have written about Child Abuse has made me sick and sad!  Children are our future a singer once sang, but he had, had his childhood stolen and he became a strange and sad man.

Yes children are our future but at this rate do we have one. Children are mistreated , abused, sold down the river in every single country under the sun. The poems I have written have all been stories but are all based on facts I researched , true.The things that are done to children, some beaten black and blue. Married off at eight or nine or sold in to slavery too, girls cut and sewn up simply to please a man, young boys dressed as girls and taught to dance bought and owned by “Pious” men and used for sex  after they have watched them prance.

Children and young people bullied at their school, harassed by phone and internet just for not being this weeks “cool” Young girls taken out of school and trained to be prostitutes the younger they are the better for old men like them best if they are cute. Stolen from their village and sent as slaves to other lands worked to death  and beaten  or used for sex acts and killed when it all gets out of hand.

Forced to watch their parents, their homes and friends destroyed, tortured and burned  or maimed. They get dragged off into the jungle as boy and girl soldiers to be trained. Young girls get used as wives, still fight until their babies drop then they carry them into battle on their backs to machetes in hand, kill people and set fire to bodies, villages and crops.

Young girls about to take their GCSEs  go on holidays to their parents homelands for pre exam treat have no idea they are off to their future husbands meet. Ripped from all they have known a normal western life suddenly to become a stranger’s wife and live a poverty stricken village strife

Children, abused and battered, some physically some mentally , sexually used from an early age . What chance have they got their heart so full of rage. Some will become  abusers for abuse is all they know, some will with help flourish and try to teach it should not be so.

No doubt there are more ways that children get abused, some parents even abuse their own children, sexually or with the fist, these will be the fathers who boast that their little girl is sweet sixteen  and never been kissed!  The otheres will be mothers’ who force or sell their children however much those children resist.

Or seeing your mother beaten until she is hospitalized , living in fear of being next until your humanity dies.

I know that I am ranting but as these tears fall from my eyes there are children out there starving, freezing , hurting, bleeding, screaming , pleading, broken , humiliated and every so often one of them dies. Don’t worry, you can close your ears and eyes … it is too late for me now I have learnt the who’s and whys.

I have to stop writing now , but I promise I shall not stop shouting out because I have just started now.

photo credits http://www.bloominghappy.com/

Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 29/04/2012

The poem below makes me weep because with all the scorn and sarcasm he often used. He said the soldiers died with honour and did so with decorum ! He says they did not weep or groan. 

I am afraid to say they died in dirt and mud and agony they groaned and screamed with their innards hanging out, they cried for their mothers and their sweethearts.Poor souls they died in dirt and agony.  

Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)
“How to Die”
Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.

photo credit http://www.theatlantic.com/

The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.

You’d think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they’ve been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.

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Siegfried Sassoon was decorated for bravery on the Western Front. He became one of the leading poets of the First World War.He was a key figure in the study of the poetry of the Great War: he influenced and mentored the then unknown Wilfred Owen; he spent thirty years reflecting on the war through his memoirs; and at last he found peace in his religious faith. Some critics found his later poetry lacking in comparison to his war poems. Sassoon, identifying with Herbert and Vaughan, recognized and understood this: “my development has been entirely consistent and in character” he answered, “almost all of them have ignored the fact that I am a religious poet.”            ….. http://www.poemhunter.com/siegfried-sassoon/biography/

Lest we forget.

Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

 

Sad Lost Dolls.

photo credits http://www.flixya.com/

Yes she is a beautiful child she has that look of innocence that drives men wild. She could make a fortune it is true but is it really the right thing to do.

She will love it all the fuss, the travel the treats the complements from all she meets. There is a future in photo modelling  for her she has that presence that make all who see her stare.

What if she falls into the wrong hands there’s plenty out there who will misuse  her beauty plenty who have nasty plans. No she will be fine no harm will come to this child of mine.

“Mummy , mummy can I go and play?” no my sweet not today. “Please mummy I want my friends to stay!” no you have wok to do send them away. “Please mum can I go to school I want to be with people my age I want to learn and play the fool.”  No we have a teacher for you, there are adverts and film work for you to do.

photo credits http://www.artmajeur.com/

“Why can’t I have friends around that are my age I don’t the like photographers they rant and rage.” No I told you you are special your very precious. You don’t have time to skip and play face it sweetie  your looks won’t last and you’ll be too tall one day!

We should get a couple more years fame at this rate we are clawing in the money she has time to be young later she can wait. Sadly, sadly that’s not true her childhood  robbed and she becomes sad and blue.

Slowly all her ties get cut  her friends grow few she is neither child nor adult too. The lines of age soon get blurred is she thirteen or 23and a third?

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Another form of abuse not quite so obvious but just as dangerous. The parents live their dreams and missed opportunities through their children. Not all but some, child models, child actors, child beauty queens loose their childhoods. They feel no worth unless they are being complimented . They are not balanced, being deprived of growing up through a childhood. Basically they are used as much as if they have been sold in to slavery.  Sad little lost dolls.

April’s Story

photo credits http://www.anglican-mainstream.net/

Just because I am not the same is fair I am the butt of their game. Every day I dread  to go to school because it is always the same they treat me mean and make me the fool.

OH! I hate each and every break   that’s when my loneliness hits me and sadness over takes. It is no fun to be the one everybody picks upon, they rip my coat and trash my books and all through class they give me dirty looks.

Sometimes they follow me home, why won’t they just leave me alone. It doesn’t stop there, not all. As soon as I get in they start to call and send texts to my phone. Swearing taunting calling me names do they enjoy playing these games.

I tried to fight back I tried to reason  but I can’t to anything to please them. I tried to tell the teacher but she was not listening and then because of that they shoved my head down the toilet and gave me a christening!

photo credits http://www.shizzledizzlemagic.com/

I feel that it cannot get worse  then someone goes and takes my purse. For fun and good measure they give me a hearty beating leaving me cuts and bruises to treasure!

Sitting here in the hall I am bleeding but no one stops to give me the reassurance I am needing. So I slog home hurt and grieving  all hope gone nothing left to believe in.

Mum and dad, they have have done their best they have begged the school to get that gang to give me a rest. Every day it is relentless it just goes on and on on it is just endless. Nothing happens nothing is done they never stop they never will they could not give a shit about me I am just their fun.

I have had enough I shall not go on, harassment on my computer has now begun. Another way for the evil ones at my expense to have fun. Well.” NO YOU BASTARDS I have had enough take your cruel taunts, your punches texts and up yourselves them stuff. I have got a piece of strong rope I have written you all a beautifully neat note. So round my throat I knot this rope  I am sick of you all I really can no longer cope.

Children are now bullied so badly at school even when they get home they cannot escape because the bullies abuse them via, their phones and computers. What have we become when our children can hound each other to suicide just because they look or act or speak differently?

Another poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month.

 

 

 

 

Daddy’s special girl.

Photo Credits http://fineartamerica.com/

Daddy’s girl, pride and joy she is beloved even though they have a boy.He always makes time for a goodnight kiss and that bedtime story surely  there is no harm in this.

Daddy’s princess daddy’s love she the gift from heaven above. He loves to bath her and brush her hair he makes it extra special when mummy is not there!

Her brother is jealous he does not think it is fair that daddy does so much more with her. She does not seem so happy she does not want to play and she even insisted mummy give her, her bath today.

Daddy’s little angel, daddy’s pride and joy she is off her food and is throwing her toys and getting so annoyed. Mummy finds her crying in the corner once or twice but when mummy asks her why she says it is a secret and it is not very nice.

Daddy’s girl, daddy’s special girl kneels to say her prayers , mummy passing by the door, what she hears sends mum’s mind in to a whirl.

photo credits http://www.mediafocus.com/

“Please Lord I am tired and it hurts too much please make daddy stay away it hurts when he uses his special touch.Please Lord I do not like secrets especially those that make me sick. I wish I could tell mummy the things I have to do he says all special girls do it but I don’t think that is true. OH! please can you help I don’t know what to do daddy says if I tell mummy she will not believe it is true.”

Mummy’s little girl, mummy’s special girl is her poor baby being misused her whole life begins to unfurl.!What is she to do her poor child in such pain…….. no, no, no contest he will not touch her again!

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Abuse of a child by a parent or a close relative is insidious. It is hard to spot hard to discover and it can rip families apart. Please please be aware it does happen . Often parents do not believe their children and it just makes it all the more painful.

And another Poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month.

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Hush Little Baby

Can’t you stop that child crying he is doing my head in! He goes on and and on incessant crying there’s no bloody peace and that smell gets in to your skin.

photo Credits http://ikaikascreens.com/

Shut up! Shut up!! will you shut up your driving him up the wall. You scream, he nags the blame’s always laid at my door. You won’t eat you won’t sleep shut up I don’t know what to do at all! Stop, Stop my head hurts , now look I’ve knocked you to the floor.

Be quiet, be quiet, ssh! he really needs his rest . He has to be up up for work he doesn’t realize I am doing my best. Here drink this bloody bottle ..what now is it too hot ! Okay, okay if you don’t want to feed you can stay there in your cot!

Be quiet, please please be quiet will you settle now , stop stop !! If you don’t let me change this nappy I just won’t bother …….. now. OH! for goodness sake will you stop that noise why can’t you be like other babies bundles of cooing joys?

ARRRRRGH! I can’t take it any more shut your bloody noise stop, stop I am sick of you………… there  that shut you up.

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Covering up her baby the young woman walks away, silence ,golden silence she has not had that for days. Memories flood in to her head, her mother screaming at her, screaming in her face and being hungry and cold in her bed.

The vows she made the love she craved, the mistakes she’d said she’d never make. OH! no she’d been just like her mother again she’d shouted at and hurt the babe. But what was she to do. She has no idea of what to do with a baby, three of them in this squalid, two room flat, living hand to mouth would drive anyone crazy.

She goes back in the room the baby is silent still. Yet he does not look right …. something does not look good is he breathing ? It is hard to see in this light. Bending down she picks him up …ah! yes at least he is breathing . Gently now and quietly she takes him into their room her boyfriend’s asleep  now she prays that neither will stir for any time soon.

There is dirty washing everywhere, the cupboards are bare of proper food she sits there hugging baby tight ( too tight) silver light from the TV flickers and to it she is glued.

Where is the help these children need where is the help they were promised. It is quiet now but that will not last, will someone take away their baby and will these older children be admonished . Will some one end the circle of abuse.

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Another Poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month

 

GO TO YOUR ROOM

Photo Credit http://www.123rf.com/photo

Go to your room! Be quiet, stop pushing your luck , go on get out of my sight ! Why can’t you be like your brother, can’t you do anything right!

Look at this mess what are you playing at, tidy your room you won’t get any dinner until it is done. Get out of my sight go sit in the gloom.

What, what are you playing at! You have wet your bed again do you do this to try my patience? Well  you are winning you are such a pain!

Why are you so awkward, not like your brother  I am sick of the look on your face you are such a bother! Go on then go, go!

So he goes and he sits in his room, he sits in the corner and cries in the gathering gloom. He sleeps in a wet bed, in the morning he changes his sheets. He kneels down and repeatedly bangs his head on the floor. You feel his pain in the repeated beats.

She is braking his spirit and hurting him so does she realize what she is doing does she care does she know. This poor little boy with no allies  in view is only learning the negatives poor little soul what can he do!

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Another poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month.

 

 

 

Grace’s Party

Photo Credits http://www.ghostofaflea.com/

Such a pretty girl, such a lovely face. You cannot believe what they planned for little Grace.

She has dressed up for the party, she is twelve today the house is full of women they are all Aunties, that is what her mamma says.

She can’t remember details not her screams that made her mother pale. She does remember blood OH! it was everywhere. She remembers the cobwebs on the ceiling at which she had to stare.

The pain is still so awful she can’t get out of bed, there is so much blood but none of it is as bad as the thoughts within her head. So tired and in need of sleep but the pain is so intense that she cannot find rest, the pain does not relent.

They told her she was clean now , and fit to be a bride. They said she was a woman and she should be filled with pride.

Poor Grace could feel no pride, all she felt was pain from the stitches and the feeling that she would die if they touched her again. She feared growing up and having to marry a man they told her they’d have to cut the stitches then. She could not bear that thought..I do not think anyone can.

photo credit http://en.wikipedia.org/

This poem is about female circumcision or  female  genital mutilation( FGM  ) as it is commonly known. I could not write this poem last week but I did post a link to information on this abuse. But I felt I must be strong as I must bring this abuse of young girls to your attention. So there it is a poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month.

photo credits http://en.wikipedia.org/

Black Mood.

I can feel the anger in him, I try to help but I just make it worse. They talk in loud harsh voices….. I try to calm them but as ever I make it worse. I always make it worse, I did back then and even now I do the same.

It is there bubbling  just beneath the surface. It is mean and angry and when it bursts forth it is always directed at me. I sit here and I hear the anger. Their voices are even but angry.Black and hot like tar it is it smears and sticks and is the devil to get off.

Every time I say anything it is spat out and changed so in the end even I feel that it is me that has caused this. If they would read this they would say I am drowning myself in pity. I can hear them now “what is it to do with you? why is it always to do with you? ”

It is not to with me but as a mother  I need to help I need to insist I need to make sure they are safe and sorted ! My boys if they bleed I bleed for them if they weep I weep for them if they need I need to help them.

Then it is sorted I hear the voices quieten and drop , the goodbyes are said off one goes.I am here with their dad.

But I can feel the anger. It is there bubbling  just beneath the surface. It is mean and angry and when it bursts forth it is always directed at me. I sit here and I hear the anger their voices are even but angry.Black and hot like tar it is it smears and sticks and is the devil to get off.

We must open our eyes.

image from Pixabay

Quick, quick look away

If we meet her eyes our hearts will melt and our emotions will have to pay.

No, no it is no business of ours

She is not our child, no matter how hungry she looks or the fact she is out all hours.

Hush , hush she is screaming again

That is not naughtiness that is real pain.

Shall we ring ..well maybe not,

Have you seen the size of  her mother’s boyfriend and his temper is hot.

Look, look she is out there again

Hardly any clothes on and it is poring with rain.

Look, look at those bruises on her legs and arms.

She is limping, look are those cigarette burns on her palms.

Why , why did we not say?

We saw the neglect get worse everyday.

We saw the violence getting worse,

We heard the boyfriend shout at her and curse.

We saw the way they both went out each night

Leaving her home, didn’t we all say that, that was not right.

OH! now that is so sad we all knew it was happening

But we said nothing and now we feel so sad.

That poor little might so small and defenseless

Last night by that brute was beaten senseless.

The ambulance came early this morning and took her away

She was dead on arrival …..isn’t that what they say.

So go one hold your heads up if you can

You all let a tiny girl’s life be taken by a shit of an excuse for a man, and a woman to weak to care for that child.

Now  she is also expecting another baby to replace her  in a short while.

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Photo credits goodnews4u.net/

What are those tears what do they say

What is this little one here trying to say.

Is he being beaten, starved or sexually abused is hurting or has he passed pain

Has he already lost his innocence never to find it again.

Are his parents addicts to worried about their next fix

To worry about him as he plays with his bricks.

He has so few toys that these bricks are so important to him

He sleeps with them eats with them in their special tin.

The floor is dirty and littered with muck

And there are discarded needles which his thin little legs have already pierced and stuck.

No food in the fridge and the cupboards are bare

He is thirsty and hungry  but his parents no longer have the will to care.

Sometimes he finds his way out of doors

And goes through the rubbish risking rats and cats claws.

He just might strike lucky and find some food

Then he will drink from a puddle , yes this does sound crude!

If they find him it will be too late,

Hunger, neglect and needles sticks have decided his fate.

They will say he is feral the poor little soul

Who knows nothing of being loved and cradled against the cold.

Can  this happen how can this be true……….

Yes it does all around us , yes I am telling you true.

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Two more poems I have written  for Child Abuse Awareness Month.