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.”
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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.
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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.
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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.
willowdot21 