Category: Childhood abuse & trauma

Do I Dare

by Trinity Rayne

Do I dare try to beat and race the clock
Do I dare open a door just waiting to reveal secrets that no longer need a lock
Do I dare fix and clean up my own mess that's been broken
Do I dare speak words my tongue has held and needed to be spoken
Do I dare to take a risk and have another chance
Do I dare to cross the floor and start to dance
Do I dare face my hurt and find out what's been killing my soul
Do I dare risk my soul to tear in order to make it once again whole
Do I dare write these words and put myself out on a limb
Do I dare go in troubled waters to only sink or swim
Do I dare for my dreams to take flight
Do I dare breathe life into my dreams and give them sight
Do I dare keep going and carrying on
Do I dare walk into the night and step out into the dawn
Do I dare to climb stair after stair
Do I dare to jump and fall into a life affair
Do I dare to put myself out there
Do I dare reveal who I am underneath and show that I care
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The Dying Swan

by Hea

Enter
stage left,
it's never right,
the house sits
eagerly on
the edge
of its
sticky worn seats.
"Costumes"
yells the instructor
my mind
stomps it's
feet with a why bother!
More than ready
to abandon
this leather faced sack,
a weary traveler
saddled taught,
who's back riddles
it's own burden
in 28 tattoos,
drawn by crayon,
markers and a bubble blowing pen.
My trusty jeans
and t-shirt,
popsicle stained
given flair,
reveals hidden truths
In the all too roomy
leotard i wear.
Popping a squat
I scour my bag
nothin' but my pointes,
reaking spoiled sweat.
Grabbing with haste,
noting their aging despair,
not bad , i tell them
all things considered,
hardly holding the pale
that once shined
with my spit,
now hidden in
an archaic dinge.
My tights
must be on break,
lot's to tuck,
under battle torn toes ,
I tell them to huddle,
bind and crammed in
my one size
fits all
pair of shoes.
I criss and I cross,
limp ribbons whining
both of us frayed
round the edges.
Stretching and extending,
rotation down pat,
I take to the bar
not sure who's
looking back,
better to stand
in the unaware.
I curse the clapping
and it's uncalled for racket,
just give me the cello,
let my Saint-Saens begin.
positions,
pirouettes and
of course grand plies,
a story well versed yet
utters no words,
the horizon calls,
though I've no
space to fly,
my feathered arms
faint in their waving,
starting to quiver,
tortured and tormented,
I allow the descent,
one last arc perfected,
one of so many times.
Stilled strings
announce the
quick of my pulse,
the panting slows,
the audience
blanketed in hush.
It's applause
muffled,
as is my own,
the shows over,
exit
stage left.
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Innocent Child

by AngelaB

She was an innocent child,
looked at him with stars in her eyes.
He wasn't a safe place,
filled her head with lies.
Criticized the body
her soul lived in.
She wouldn't ever measure up
to the world he lived in.
They touched her body
like it wasn't hers.
She was a child
There was no safe place
where her soul lived.
She looked for a safe warm place
for her soul to rest.
The hands that was to love her hit her.
Abandoned and alone.
She tries again to find that safe place
where her soul can rest.
The heart that was to love her spit in her face, told her she was unlovable.
Yet she tries again, yearning for that safe place, her soul is so tired.
He sees she is tired, easy to bend, he criticizes her until she breaks.
She is no longer whole, her soul in a thousand pieces.
She hides behind a smile and cries in the dark.
She just wants to be a safe place for her child.

1

A Childhood

by Debbie Piziali

A childhood of endless tears

Much strife and deep, dark fears

Amongst all the gripping pain

To keep from going insane

and of life long sorrow

with no hope for a better tomorrow

We had a chance to learn

from a mom not so stern

Who was patient and kind

Able to ease our troubled mind

Who would hardly take and mostly  give

Fighting hard, so we could live

Thank God, we had each other

Me, one sister and an older brother

As we journey through these years,

Sprinkle it with joy, laughter and cheers.
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Smelter Dust

by Laura Howat

 Shimmering orange slag
 The towering steel bucket tipped
 Heatwaves wafted off liquid metal
 Hissed melded hard-packed desert dirt steamed
 Reflecting pollution of Rio Grande
 Acrid metal burned nostrils
 Punctual evening clock
  
 Horny toad lizard scales rubbed against chubby hands
 Writhing against a slathering red magic marker
 Wriggling like when sister wouldn’t eat vegetables
 Dad pinned neck to force feed
 Favorite game to release brightly colored lizard
 Brother and her try to find tomorrow
 She played in a ripped blue skirt and soiled sailor top
 Only outfit
 Remnants of day trip visit with dad
  
 Sister was the first to start whimpering
 Still driving now dark
 I want to go home to mommy
 Dad turned around
 Wasn’t watching the road flailing his arm back
 Eyes bulging rage
 Give you something to cry about
 Three kids slunk down in the big back Chrysler bench seat
 Hollow game of witches with oncoming headlights
 Days passed before the driving stopped
  
 Always confused barely talked raggedy girl followed along at school
 Crunched cockroaches at lavatory time
 Recess pushed down skirt up laughed at in language not understood
  
 Parked motorcycle dusted in glistening prism yellow smelter dust
 She climbed up sat astride wide saddle
 Legs dangling felt its power
 When she was big enough
 Would open the throttle speed away 
  
 Alone after school walking against tide of dark adults
 Too short to see street signs
 Nauseating fear right one block left
 Church childcare pretty lady with long brown hair and kind eyes
 Led her by the hand 
 Oasis soft green mat milk graham crackers rest and peace
  
 At the discount store for 7th birthday
 New dress bright frilly red and blue flowers built-in hooped petticoat
 Sprang up like a bubble sitting on hard classroom seat
 Scratchy lattice dug bloody welts in tender thighs
  
 Black early morning kitchen
 Dad sprung around
 Clomping heavy hiking boots
 I’m empty
 Puffed up towering monster
 Just like night terrors
 In the dark she saw
 No light
 Except a glint off eyetooth
 Struck a match
 Blew a lung full of sulfur dust
 Igniting a fireball
 Incinerating him as he lunged
 All hope burned
 She turned and walked away
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Last Poem for Father

by Laura Howat

 Devil doesn’t take a break
 Plenty of tricks has he
 You’d think I’d learn
 But he’s much smarter than me
 As he’s always reminding
  
 I was tough when little
 Wasn’t scared of fairy tale monsters 
 Faced a real one every day
 We called him Father
  
 Tricked Mom into full time job
 To support his college dreams
 She also tended three young ones, cooked and cleaned 
 Living in a trailer
 Beatings kept us towing the line
 Father our jailer
  
 For his son castration
 For his daughters evisceration
 Wife obliteration
 Moved us to isolation 
 Then left with a smirk
 Her with no schooling  money  pride or work
  
 Tricked me last year
 With his crocodile tears
 Regrets make peace healing
 Instead trauma and double dealing
 Let him into my home
 Housed him fed him cleaned up after
 Said I must care for him who gave me life
 My only memories abuse  abandonment  strife
 He parked at table head
 Pontificating about the ways mom raised me wrong as he broke his bread
 Expecting kingly exaltation
 Should bow to his wisdom or I’m destined to have my own sons turn from me  eternal damnation
 Disguised his talking flames
 Felt the incineration just the same
 Simple things like my asking not to wear hiking boots inside
 Instead he stomped and clomped and ground his dirt into cream carpet refusing to abide
 And stared and dared me to say more
 Took all my will and a crowbar to get him out the door
  
 Tricked me again
 Big birthday envelope
 Curiosity kicked in 
 Hoped for some sentiment
 But a used calendar now that the close of year is evident
 His scribblings and past appointments
 Plus three pages both sides of single spaced rage
 Even mocking maternal grandma I never met who died at a young age
 Need to be told where my bad seed comes from
 With love Dad
 Wanted to burn it in a fire  spit  swear   rip to shreds
  
 Not worth the ceremony so with a sigh tossed it in the trash instead
  
 Dad  Father
 Don’t call him those anymore
 Just the Devil to me
 And I want to be free
 Hope this is the last poem of blame
 To Gordon 
 His given name
  
 Now I’ve done a trick myself
 A lifetime to accomplish
 Deleted his voice message without listening
 To me a homage
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