This is a poem on child abuse I wrote last December . I am reblogging it because I am trying to honour Child Abuse Month before it ends sadly I only found out about Child Abuse Month on tuesday,


What do you see in this little girl here, I see tears and pain and loneliness and a lot of fear.

Why is she crying I hear you say, why is she so sad. She will tell you it is because she has to go home after school every day.

She looks so lost and so very sad nothing in her  little life could be so bad? OH! Yes it is though you’d never of guessed her bruises don’t show they are hidden by the way she is dressed.

Who hurts this little one who treats her so. Someone in her  family? surely no  . Her Mummy and Daddy they say she is bad, that she never learns and it is always her  fault for the beatings she’s had.

Stop now and  look at her, she is ever so thin it looks like she is in need of something to…

View original post 159 more words


I read on Resurrection’s page  that it is Child Abuse Prevention Month. April is also National Poetry Month. So I am still following her example . Here is my second poem.It was not the poem I intended to write but as I mentioned in the previous poem boys are effected too. DaPoet  also commented on this too saying that boys and men are effected by this human trade too. So I have shelved the other poem for now to write this one about a boy. I hope it does not offend anyone. I have tried not to be too visual but these things need to be faced.

NB: the title is the boy’s name . Chimwuanya it means “My God’s eyes are open.”


Police Detective :  “He didn’t stand a chance you can see that that is true look at those wounds, you say they are hammer marks?”

Pathologist :Yes that is true. A 14yr old male, emaciated, visible bruises to all the limbs and torso , cigarette burns on hands and soles of the feet cut marks on chest and back not a good life I bet.


The Boy.

Is that me on the table I did try to tell those men but I was not able. I know they can see what was done to my body  but they cannot see the damage to my mind and soul. I feel used, abused,  beaten. Had I of survived I would never of been whole.I would be a dirty empty hole.

I was the oldest and so I was sent away they gave my mother food and promised her money from my pay. If I worked hard and did as I was told, I would be fed and clothed if I was good. They took me far away to another land. It was cold and busy people shouted at me words I did not understand.

They gave me clothes and lots of jobs to do. I slept in a cupboard which smelt of something strong. The man had a wife and children who had beds to sleep upon. At first when they were all out I would read the children’s books and at their toys I took little looks. I’d take  extra food as I was fed very meagrely. I loved those books and I devoured the words with joy so eagerly.

Then one day I fell asleep on the big boy’s bed he came home from school and caught me ….. The Misses shouted and hit me, all I could do was hang my head! She told the Mr when he came in from work he beat with a broom told me I lazy greedy and a shirk.

Then Misses went  away and took the children on holiday. My work got more and in the evening the Mr had visitors, men. I had to do what they wanted me to. I thought I’d die but I was afraid of hell  but soon I realized I was in hell .

I cannot tell you what those men got me to do, it was foul to me and dirty and I loathed myself through and through. They beat me if I fought them, they beat me if I squealed they beat me and abused me,my life was no longer real.

I never liked the dark but I grew to love it and my cupboard became my home for in the quiet and dark I could let my memory loose and through my village I’d roam.

Then last week the boss brought three men who were nastier than the rest  they all did such things to me they would not let me rest. When I started bleeding the Mr got annoyed with me about the mess. So they dragged to their car took me somewhere  quiet beat with with their hammers ….you can see the rest.


Pathologist : Yes he has been sexually abused, on a regular basis I would say. Starved, beaten hardly washed kept out of light and used as an ash tray.

Follow me on Twitter

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Second Wind Leisure Perspectives

Fun, Fitness & Photography


A mixed bag

Pacific Paratrooper

This site is Pacific War era information

A Teacher's Reflections

Thirty Years of Wonder

Butterfly Sand

Curiosity run amok . . .

Laura McHarrie @ The Hidden Edge

Another Way of Looking at Your Business

Shan Jeniah's Lovely Chaos

Finding Yessings and Blessings in Lifes Messings!

Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words

Poetry, Flash Fiction, Stories, Musings, Photos

But I Smile Anyway...

Musings and memories, words and wisdom... of a working family woman

Ella Craig

Write here, write now.

Gary A Wilson Stories

A Dime of Time: Mostly 10 Minute Stories, Fiction and Memoirs

Therapy Bits

Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd


...what Lady A Lewis thinks about it...

No Facilities

Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams


An onion has many layers. So have I!


The independent she who loves life

365 And Counting

there's plenty more where the first year came from

Ruth Blogs Here

Or not, depending on my mood

Expert In Managing Data Using Excel, Word, PDF

I am with 12 years of experience and ready to achieve any type of works such as, converting any form from JPG, PDF, ...etc into Excel,Word, PowerPoint and other editable forms, In addition to having a deep experience in inserting and managing data

The Art of M.

Life & The Artistic Creations of M. Snyder

France & Vincent

Writing Magic, Myth and Mystery

Sun in Gemini

SteveTanham - writing, mysticism, photography, poetry, friends



Hot Dogs and Marmalade

Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).

Two on a Rant

Rants, humor, sarcasm, and a haiku-like substance? It's hard to know what's going to come out of our minds next.


An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart

Trent's World (the Blog)

Random Ramblings and Reviews from Trent P. McDonald

Shelley Wilson Author

Multi-Genre Author of YA Fantasy and Non-Fiction Self-Help

Marsha Ingrao - Always Write

Having fun blogging with friends


Learner at Love

Chel Owens

A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing

Mr. Ohh!'s Sideways View

For those of you who aren't me...and I've noticed a surprisingly large number of people who aren't.

The Small Dog

Life from the Tail End


DOG TAILS by ZoZo and Jools


poetry and short stories