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.


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.


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


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.

Why So sad

Fears are Tears

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 eat. She is shaking and staring directly at her feet. Gently please don’t  flinch I am not going to hurt you look my fists are not clinched .

She is so frighten as I dry her tears I hope I can help and allay her fears. She has spent hours standing out in the yard peeping through the window watching the rest of the family, warm and happy it must be so hard.

It is not surprising that she smells so bad she cannot remember the last bath she had. And God help her if she wets her bed ( because her tormentors have got inside her head) She gets beaten and the sheets rubbed in her face the rest of the family laugh at her she feels such disgrace.

It is not fare it is nothing she has done but this little girl has never known fun. She has been beaten and abused and kept away from everyone.

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