Grace’s Birthday.

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’s what mama says.

She can’t remember details, 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. 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

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

After reposting, my poem on Child brides yesterday from Child Abuse Awareness Month 2012 I thought I would tidy up and repost this one about female genital mutilation( FGM ). This poem broke heart to research and write. It broke my heart again today. Some girls are as younger than the Grace in my poem .

Love is in Da Blog: Daddy’s Princess

Just Fooling About With Bee said: Nothing  yet,  no  prompt  so I  am going  with second  part  of  yesterday’s  blog. The darkerside of love.

This post is harsh and I apologise  if it offends anyone. 

I chose  Butterfly  Kisses by Bob Carlisle because  it is  a song of  love from a  father   for a daughter , true  love  not the   twisted hurtful emotion in the poem.

Again  I mean no  offence.

———————————–

Daddy’s Princess

Deep blue eyes pools you could dive into

Pert ruby red lips, taught  not say what is true.

Blonde beautiful curls  surround  her face

This  facade hides her pain and disgrace.

 

Daddy’s little princess his  one pride and joy

He truly  loves her infact  she’s  his toy.

We won’t tell mummy  she will only  get cross

He is  the adult so she will obey he is the boss.

 

Why does she not play with the other children  in class

She always  so tired , sitting alone  hiding  behind  her ‘Angels Mask’

Away with the fairies  is  where  she seems to be

Wishing  she  did not have to go home  to “loving  Daddy”

 

Mummy is  busy  she works and is not always home

So  mostly it’s  princess and  Daddy at home   alone.

She  has tried to tell Mummy  but could  not find the words

Mummy was busy organizing  a party  and her words  were not heard.

 

So Mummy is  away  and it is the middle of  the night

Her body tenses as she hears  footsteps and the click of her light.

He  lifts  her up as he always has done before

And  takes her to his bed  as he has done so many times before.

 

He  says it is loving  and she must  not tell

Anyway he is adult and it is  their secret….well

We won’t tell mummy  she will only  get cross

He is  the adult so she will obey, he is the boss.

 

Back in her bed she cries herself  to sleep

She is hurt and bleeding  but this  secret she must keep,

For she is Daddy’s princess and he tells her it’s love

So  she prays  for sleep and an end  this, please God above.

 

Deep blue eyes, pools you could dive into

Pert ruby red lips, taught  not say what is true.

Blonde beautiful curls  surround  her face

This  facade hides her pain and disgrace.

 

This  is  Just  fooling  around  with  Bee  Idea  for  a  February  daily  challenge! To  suit  her  spoilt  inner  child…. and  mine  come  to that so  here  we go! Hold on to your heart!  Join in  here 

 

 

 

 

Invisible

PLEASE BE AWARE , UPSETTING AND GRAPHIC LANGUAGE AND CONTENT. THE PHOTOS ARE FROM THE INTERNET AND ARE NOT ABUSED CHILDREN AS FAR AS I KNOW.

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INVISIBLE

Invisible that what they called her

Invisible , she is dead now, is that fair.

Everyday  the nice  lady came

She knew,  she did, she heard her use her name.

Evie is asleep her mother carelessly said

Yes Evie is asleep…..Pour Evie was dead.

Lucky was she  if she got the scraps

She was so thirsty  her lips were just chaps.

Frightened each day out of sight she hid

At school no one took notice of the things she did.

Evie  was wasting away  before everyone’s eyes

Stealing from bins, sleeping in class no  one heeding her cries.

Up in her room cowering in the dark

Storming up the stairs, again his hands leave  a mark.

Whimpering and shivering  no point to make a sound

Evie  does not want attention,praying not to be found.

The pain  from his cigarette burns make her want to cry

Cold, tired hungry this child prayed to die.

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He is always tired, dozing in class  and accident  prone

His parents are the perfect couple , how is he at home.

He is so clumsy covered in cuts and bruises

Mummy only feeds him  when she chooses.

Daddy can’t stand him so he keeps out of sight

It is better that way, Mummy can’t protect him she has given up the fight.

His teacher is worried the child is so thin

Just look at those bruises, he is nothing but bone and skin.

Talk in the staffroom , what can be done

You need to be careful no one will back you if you get it wrong.

To hell with the rules she can’t stand watching this anymore

So she calls the police and the headmistress and tells them what she saw.

Visits are made every week can we see James . No he’s asleep!

Little James can hear this help , but to get down from the cupboard  is too big a leap.

James is away with his nanny you see

Having fun at the seaside, in the sun running free.

He is too tired, and too hungry to cry

He is invisible , and invisible he will die.

Child Abuse Awareness Month.

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.

Sad Lost Dolls.

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.

“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?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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!

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.

 

 

 

 

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.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another Poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month

 

GO TO YOUR ROOM

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!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month.

 

 

 

We must open our eyes.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

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

Münchhausen By Proxy

Mummy says I am not well she made me take some of her medicine but I am not allowed to tell. I am feeling sick now, that is true but I was okay until I had to drink her brew.

Hospitals are almost my home we have been in one or another they are almost all I have known. I just get to like a place and make friends then we have to move on. I get so lonely maybe I shall be allowed to go to school soon then, I can move on.

I hate these tests my arms are like a pin cushion, the doctors and nurses are so nice and they always say mummy is so brave. I like that because then she will behave. Sometimes she makes me drink funny stuff or she cuts me and put the  blood in my wee….. I don’t like that it means more tests for me.

It always ends the same they tell mummy they cannot find anything wrong with me. She gets angry, then the Drs seem to change. Then off we go into the night again we flee. Mummy says it is an adventure  and we will find another hospital to make me well she hushes me when I say no, I am well she says “You Must Not Tell”

Now at last mummy has said when we are settled and I can start school I was so excited but then I was vext. My beautiful hair she is going to shave off she said I have cancer  but I have not even a cough. Mummy got that angry look, no point to argue I can read her like a book.

I have to say I have cancer, “Tell the teachers, tell the girls let them see how brave you are.” she said delightedly. But I want my hair I do not want everyone looking at me ..pitying me. I am tired of only having tiny meals , no sweets no biscuits I have to keep thin. I have to look ill and always having to take the pills.

Mummy is right I do feel ill I am so empty inside it hurts I feel sick. Why must I be always ill does it have to be this way to give my mum a kick. Will I always have to look pale and sick for mum to get some kind of sick kick?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Münchhausen by proxy is  a fairly un- common ‘illness’ where usually a parent or carer presents with a sick child. They often make the child ill by poisoning them or giving them pills or putting blood in their urine.

The mother or carer ( the Münchhausen suffer) often has some medical knowledge and is happy and at ease in a hospital environment. Strange as it may seem the Drs and nurses   do not always spot this as they do not suspect the parents/ carers to harm the patient.

Children who are subject to MBPS are typically preschool age, although there have been reported cases in children up to 16 years old, and there are equal numbers of boys and girls. About 98% of the perpetrators are female.

The long-term prognosis for these children depends on the degree of damage created by the perpetrator and the amount of time it takes to recognize and diagnose MBPS. Some extreme cases have been reported in which children developed destructive skeletal changes, limps, mental retardation, brain damage, and blindness from symptoms caused by the parent or caregiver. Often, these children require multiple surgeries, each with the risk for future medical problems.

I have written this poem for Child Abuse Awareness Month because it is an uncommon and insidious for of abuse. Blink and you miss it but it cause no end of damage.

 

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