What Happened

Were have my young days gone when did they fly away. When did my youth depart and I became the woman I am today. What happened to my mistakes how come they have hung around the cunning little things have grown roots and now surround me on the ground.

All my dreams flutter around above my head they all look tired now some struggling and some are already dead. Once they were like flowers blooming in techicolour  now they are more monochrome and fading by the hour.

My looks are not the same now. who is that in the mirror who ever she is she looks just like my mother. Her figure is not quite right good job she has got it covered!! What happened to all my friends which way did they go. We really had some high times then why they have all cleared off and left me here I do not know.

Look at me I am in bits just like a mosaic picture.Nothing is the same nothing is quite right the days are long and lonely  but better then the nights.

I do not see my babies, well of course they are all grown they are all so very busy now but I am so grateful when they come visit home.

Were have my young days gone when did they fly away. When did my youth depart and I became the woman I am today. What happened to my mistakes how come they have hung around the cunning little things have grown roots and now surround me on the ground.

Holiday Surprise

Another poem for Child Abuse Month this one is about child brides, some girls are as good as kidnapped by their own parents . Imagine the culture shock from living life here in the west to suddenly finding out that the exciting holiday you were looking forward to was just a ruse to get to India,Pakistan or Afghanistan to marry you off often to an older man.

In the villages of India,Pakistan, Afghanistan and Africa. Children as young as 6yrs are married off to older men. It is  wrong, don’t you think.

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Happy head full of teenage dreams sending texts and watching computer screens. Looking forward to the summer holiday visiting cousins far away.

At school gate with your friends you’ll see them all when the summer ends.

Eighteen months later them’s the brakes OH! what difference those months makes! No longer a carefree happy teen, a mother in servitude dreams of what her life could of been.

Why did her parents cheat her so marrying her of to an older man she did not know. All her schooling all her dreams blown away in smithereens.

She remembers weeping so begging her parents not to go. Why did they do this to her she wants to know.

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I was going to write about Female Circumcision also known as FGM  but I could not, sorry I just could not, but I have enclosed  a link to an article about it   BBC Health.

It’s nothing less than abuse

I wrote this poem on abuse at school by piers and teachers, last year and posted it last september. It  is personal and I am not afraid to say so. My school days were among the worst days of my life. I do know that it does not sound as horrific as some the other poems and situations that I have tackled  this  last week but it is abuse and both boys and girls suffer it .

It can be even worse these days as there is now cyber bullying so the poor victim cannot get away from it unless they cut themselves off completely from the modern appliances. In fact some people are Tolled after their death and so it is their family that carry on receiving the bullying.

It is abuse it should be stopped but the schools do not seem to be able to stop it !

It’s nothing less than abuse

Rounded shoulders head hung down why do they all make fun of me I am not a clown. Sitting in the row spiteful girls stick their pens in my legs. Teacher at the front she must never know, she wouldn’t help she treats me like dregs.

Following me nearly home, calling me mean names,in the playground I always stand alone they don’t pick me for their games. Opening my desk finding it’s been trashed , my text book been drawn in and my favourite doll has been  smashed.

Mum tried her hardest but being the youngest of six my things did not get replaced they just got fixed. My plimsolls were the wrong colour they were black instead of white , I was hauled up on the stage, lectured in front of the school then had to stay on late that night. I just could not make it I could not win with staff and girls against me all I could do was just give in.

I met my boyfriend, and his friends did not like me because I spoke differently, I was from the posh school.  They though I was rich, I was not I was just like them it would of made no  difference if I’d let them know. When we  were out or at a party they were pleasant to my face but if my guy was not there and behind my back the things they said were just a disgrace. They joined the line of teachers and my piers it makes me wonder now how I stood it for all those years.

I am not saying I no friends, no that would not be true. I did have friends and they were good   but they were the very few. I always felt so ugly, too fat and too short and if anyone was nice to me I could not believe it. What do they want was my first thought.

Things got better when I started work I seemed to come out of my shell like a little butterfly I changed and put aside my days of living hell. They tell you, you don’t  realize that school days are the best days of your life , thank God I never listened or I would of ended mine with a knife.

Thank God I grew away from all the pain  but sometimes I see a face  hear a voice or a name and it all floods back again. I am older now and have all that I could ask for, family and friends but sometimes my calm deserts me and confidence takes flight,  fear and dark descends and I feel lost in the night. I ask the question now why children’s jibes and actions  can be so mean and cruel. The worse days of my life were my years at school. I cry each time I read or hear on the news how children can hurt each other IT NOTHING LESS THAN ABUSE

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