Dark Childhood Poem
gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
Forum Posts: 192
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
10
Joined 26th Nov 2018 Forum Posts: 192
Poetry Contest Description
Show us the dark side of your childhood.
Any style
Two entries max
Poetry any length
Prose Poetry minimum half a page
PM me for questions
Two entries max
Poetry any length
Prose Poetry minimum half a page
PM me for questions
gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
Forum Posts: 192
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
10
Joined 26th Nov 2018 Forum Posts: 192
Nurtured By Sorrows in Childhood
“Nurtured by sorrows in childhood”
…what the hell does that even mean?
I thought it, I wrote it.
I lived it, I remember it…
A child in darkness puts hell in ovation…
but where was my heaven?
I swear I was touched once then…
by an angel, I think.
I’m not sure, for its face was blackened
in the dimmed basement.
Cold, wet cement walls echoed whining.
Please… please why can’t it be a dream?
My angel, my protector and my hero
you should have been.
Your touch felt kind, caring and trustworthy…
but that face!
Oh, that face of yours chained me to the darkened corner
squeezing the childhood out of my broken body!
I grew up too fast in childhood.
I’d love to have it all back now.
One steals… what another’s lost;
your thieving smothered the light in my soul.
Nearly every day, I cross my arms over my chest
in the comforting hold of the only one who knows, who understands.
I hug me…
the bad won’t drain from this fragile being.
It has cemented itself to every corner of my body and mind.
I will never be free again.
Now and again, I think of that basement,
only to relive the horror.
…what the hell does that even mean?
I thought it, I wrote it.
I lived it, I remember it…
A child in darkness puts hell in ovation…
but where was my heaven?
I swear I was touched once then…
by an angel, I think.
I’m not sure, for its face was blackened
in the dimmed basement.
Cold, wet cement walls echoed whining.
Please… please why can’t it be a dream?
My angel, my protector and my hero
you should have been.
Your touch felt kind, caring and trustworthy…
but that face!
Oh, that face of yours chained me to the darkened corner
squeezing the childhood out of my broken body!
I grew up too fast in childhood.
I’d love to have it all back now.
One steals… what another’s lost;
your thieving smothered the light in my soul.
Nearly every day, I cross my arms over my chest
in the comforting hold of the only one who knows, who understands.
I hug me…
the bad won’t drain from this fragile being.
It has cemented itself to every corner of my body and mind.
I will never be free again.
Now and again, I think of that basement,
only to relive the horror.
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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Non-entry poem by the author of the competition.
crimsin
Unveiling
Forum Posts: 2661
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
126
Joined 25th Jan 2011 Forum Posts: 2661
little girl lost
*
a little girl locked in a closet
with just a crease of light
penetrating the darkness
underneath the door
*
three years old
abandoned by mommy
who lost her way home
being schizophrenic
*
sent to foster care
neglected and abused
wild in nature
*
into the hands of Christians
who told her they would be family
accidentally letting the f word slip
the sting of soap on her tongue
*
nose rubbed in her own pee
when she wet the bed
being emotionally damaged
*
this is the broken part of me
a little girl lost
still locked in that closet
*
fingers reaching under
a darkened door
forever reaching for the light
*note this is true story a part of my life
Written by crimsin
(Unveiling)
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gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
Forum Posts: 192
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
10
Joined 26th Nov 2018 Forum Posts: 192
Bravo crimsin! The first and last stanzas are both a powerful hook and closing for the reader!
-Daniel
-Daniel
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Forum Posts: 177
Thought Provoker
9
Joined 1st Nov 2017 Forum Posts: 177
Risen From A Hunger
For in a time, when everywhere,
the child I was took comfort in
the dangers stalking, hunting us,
my kind, at every turn it chose.
Was where I found a solace in
the tribal rites, lord of the flies,
as bitter herbs I passive ate
because my hunger was so great.
Picked for my lack of size and years,
the tirade with the herbs which had
beleaguered spirit, start to trust
the pain one day would turn the tide.
Approval from humiliate
increase in skill & strength & size
to show the path on which I’d walk.
In this awakening, I felt
the apex sun upon my face,
and joy within my beating heart.
Uplifted from the quiet tone
of sorrow I had always known,
as being one, and of the same.
It started then as I began
to know the entity of love,
whose voice’s lift spoke to my mind.
Within my very soul was God,
whose teachings opened me to pray
as self is opened like a seed.
As it would grow then split again,
while spilling forth more joy until
I realized was not the same,
it was the answer to a prayer.
#KahlilGibran
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
My interpretation is also based on the harsh realities of my early youth, before and up to the realization of my spirituality and faith.
.
the child I was took comfort in
the dangers stalking, hunting us,
my kind, at every turn it chose.
Was where I found a solace in
the tribal rites, lord of the flies,
as bitter herbs I passive ate
because my hunger was so great.
Picked for my lack of size and years,
the tirade with the herbs which had
beleaguered spirit, start to trust
the pain one day would turn the tide.
Approval from humiliate
increase in skill & strength & size
to show the path on which I’d walk.
In this awakening, I felt
the apex sun upon my face,
and joy within my beating heart.
Uplifted from the quiet tone
of sorrow I had always known,
as being one, and of the same.
It started then as I began
to know the entity of love,
whose voice’s lift spoke to my mind.
Within my very soul was God,
whose teachings opened me to pray
as self is opened like a seed.
As it would grow then split again,
while spilling forth more joy until
I realized was not the same,
it was the answer to a prayer.
#KahlilGibran
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
My interpretation is also based on the harsh realities of my early youth, before and up to the realization of my spirituality and faith.
.
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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Thetravelingfairy
Forum Posts: 286
Fire of Insight
15
Joined 12th July 2017 Forum Posts: 286
Broken Swing Set
On that swing set
He came
Open arms, warm embrace
I was young
I thought it was play
Play structure dreams
These old memories
His hands on me
His fingers traveling
What is this new game?
Let me go, no means no
But I was small, he held me tight
Told me he had a secret
A mystery, a key
What does he mean?
Zipper moving
Floodgates were opening
He showed me his treasure
Invited my hands to reclaim it
What is this discovery?
I was running
He was hunting
He slipped away into the dark
Something was different, something changed
There was a broken swing set...
He came
Open arms, warm embrace
I was young
I thought it was play
Play structure dreams
These old memories
His hands on me
His fingers traveling
What is this new game?
Let me go, no means no
But I was small, he held me tight
Told me he had a secret
A mystery, a key
What does he mean?
Zipper moving
Floodgates were opening
He showed me his treasure
Invited my hands to reclaim it
What is this discovery?
I was running
He was hunting
He slipped away into the dark
Something was different, something changed
There was a broken swing set...
Written by Thetravelingfairy
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slipalong
Forum Posts: 861
Dangerous Mind
43
Joined 1st Jan 2018Forum Posts: 861
Our Secret
The ever open bag of sweets
The hugs you thought were love
Come my dear have one of these
Unwrapped a mind of putrid scum
A lick of my ice cream
And blow the dandelion clock away
Our secret to not share, no way
A relative, an uncle
How brief the accidental fumble
Too embarrassed to feel dishevelled
All family must stay together
That secret locked his guilty pleasure
To sit upon the lap and watch
Cartoons you loved so much
Just rearange your dress so it dont crease
The crafty move of a filthy beast
Set the scale of the family norm
Doctors and nurses exploring each form
To go to the places hidden underneath
My parents would now cry in disbelief
The subtle spin of the secret tryst
The bribes that sweetened his sins emphasis
To manipulate just the innocent
Lured presents wrapped the cruel torment
Locked and ingrained the pain never relents
The hugs you thought were love
Come my dear have one of these
Unwrapped a mind of putrid scum
A lick of my ice cream
And blow the dandelion clock away
Our secret to not share, no way
A relative, an uncle
How brief the accidental fumble
Too embarrassed to feel dishevelled
All family must stay together
That secret locked his guilty pleasure
To sit upon the lap and watch
Cartoons you loved so much
Just rearange your dress so it dont crease
The crafty move of a filthy beast
Set the scale of the family norm
Doctors and nurses exploring each form
To go to the places hidden underneath
My parents would now cry in disbelief
The subtle spin of the secret tryst
The bribes that sweetened his sins emphasis
To manipulate just the innocent
Lured presents wrapped the cruel torment
Locked and ingrained the pain never relents
Written by slipalong
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Ahrima
Joined 12th May 2017
Forum Posts: 29
Lost Thinker
Forum Posts: 29
Another Day...
Another day at school,
Another day put to rest.
Another day at home,
Another day to forget.
Another day of happiness,
That is so long overdue.
Another day to cry and weep,
Right in front of you.
Another day to recover,
Another day to resume.
Another day to fight,
Another day to lose.
Another day to fall apart,
And scream at all the pain.
Another day to slit my wrist,
Then hang from a rope and sway.
Another day has passed,
Another day wont come.
Another day has slipped away,
Another day is... Well... gone.
Note:
Sorry for not being active. I will try to post more often.
Another day put to rest.
Another day at home,
Another day to forget.
Another day of happiness,
That is so long overdue.
Another day to cry and weep,
Right in front of you.
Another day to recover,
Another day to resume.
Another day to fight,
Another day to lose.
Another day to fall apart,
And scream at all the pain.
Another day to slit my wrist,
Then hang from a rope and sway.
Another day has passed,
Another day wont come.
Another day has slipped away,
Another day is... Well... gone.
Note:
Sorry for not being active. I will try to post more often.
Written by Ahrima
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wallyroo92
Forum Posts: 1874
Tyrant of Words
154
Joined 11th July 2012Forum Posts: 1874
Reflections of a Civil War
I didn’t know about politics or the status quo,
I didn’t understand the right versus the left,
All I knew were images shown on the news
Until the war hit close to home
I had never seen so many burning buses
I had never seen so many men somber
I had never seen so many women crying
I had never seen so much blood like that
I had never heard bullets whiz by like that
I had never felt tanks roll by the boulevard
Shaking the streets and passageways
And deafening blasts that stun the soul
I had never seen men on the streets like that
Brains splattered on the pavement
Entrails displayed for all to see
I had never seen eyes like that
But when you’re only eight years old
The world is difficult to understand
For there is no simple explanation
When innocence slips away just like that
I didn’t understand the right versus the left,
All I knew were images shown on the news
Until the war hit close to home
I had never seen so many burning buses
I had never seen so many men somber
I had never seen so many women crying
I had never seen so much blood like that
I had never heard bullets whiz by like that
I had never felt tanks roll by the boulevard
Shaking the streets and passageways
And deafening blasts that stun the soul
I had never seen men on the streets like that
Brains splattered on the pavement
Entrails displayed for all to see
I had never seen eyes like that
But when you’re only eight years old
The world is difficult to understand
For there is no simple explanation
When innocence slips away just like that
Written by wallyroo92
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anonymouslyhere
Pariah Shadow
Forum Posts: 1633
Pariah Shadow
Dangerous Mind
5
Joined 31st Oct 2013Forum Posts: 1633
Childhood Drowning
I remember your awful hands
Clothes ripping
Showerhead dripping
Echoes vibrate
From fingers to toes
Those lights blinded me
Bareskin on a cold floor
Writhing, fighting
You took that away
Eventually
I was your puppet
I'm not sleeping
Sixteen fucking years
I'm in a cold-sweat
I'm still running
From your skin
You violent waste of sperm.
Clothes ripping
Showerhead dripping
Echoes vibrate
From fingers to toes
Those lights blinded me
Bareskin on a cold floor
Writhing, fighting
You took that away
Eventually
I was your puppet
I'm not sleeping
Sixteen fucking years
I'm in a cold-sweat
I'm still running
From your skin
You violent waste of sperm.
Written by anonymouslyhere
(Pariah Shadow)
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eswaller
Forum Posts: 764
Dangerous Mind
31
Joined 22nd Dec 2015Forum Posts: 764
That Cold Summer Day
When I was younger,
With blonde hair, hanging lazily
Down my back in soft curls,
At that age of young innocence.
The summers, usually so light and airy
Usually full of strong rays of sunshine
With children laughing and smiling.
But that one summer
Felt so empty, so dark and heavy.
The idea of death was so unknown,
But now it hung above our heads
Changing everything.
After that day I was never able to touch
His old, hard, and leathery skin again
With the tubes sticking out
Of his frail and ghostly body
Like sharp needles.
I could still smell the wintry freshness
Of those mints he always handed
Out to us grandchildren.
We pretended like he was never there.
In my memories, he was never able to move freely.
He felt constricted to the depths
Of his bedroom in the back corner
Or silently sitting in his chair,
Never being able to hear his
Once rich and powerful voice.
We were trying to onto
Something that we couldn’t understand.
You told me that some people
Were going to come and take him away.
I didn’t ask why. I didn’t care
About him until he was long gone
And I thought that maybe,
Someday he would come back,
But he never did.
I was never able to meet the man
That my grandfather was.
Back to a time when he was healthy,
Before the sickness and death.
I wish that I had been able to meet
The man who loved his family
So dearly, so thoughtfully.
The man who I heard so many
Crazy and wild stories about.
That summer is now long gone.
But I think back to it often,
Forever remembering the pain
And darkness in that cold summer day.
With blonde hair, hanging lazily
Down my back in soft curls,
At that age of young innocence.
The summers, usually so light and airy
Usually full of strong rays of sunshine
With children laughing and smiling.
But that one summer
Felt so empty, so dark and heavy.
The idea of death was so unknown,
But now it hung above our heads
Changing everything.
After that day I was never able to touch
His old, hard, and leathery skin again
With the tubes sticking out
Of his frail and ghostly body
Like sharp needles.
I could still smell the wintry freshness
Of those mints he always handed
Out to us grandchildren.
We pretended like he was never there.
In my memories, he was never able to move freely.
He felt constricted to the depths
Of his bedroom in the back corner
Or silently sitting in his chair,
Never being able to hear his
Once rich and powerful voice.
We were trying to onto
Something that we couldn’t understand.
You told me that some people
Were going to come and take him away.
I didn’t ask why. I didn’t care
About him until he was long gone
And I thought that maybe,
Someday he would come back,
But he never did.
I was never able to meet the man
That my grandfather was.
Back to a time when he was healthy,
Before the sickness and death.
I wish that I had been able to meet
The man who loved his family
So dearly, so thoughtfully.
The man who I heard so many
Crazy and wild stories about.
That summer is now long gone.
But I think back to it often,
Forever remembering the pain
And darkness in that cold summer day.
Written by eswaller
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PoetsRevenge
Forum Posts: 749
Dangerous Mind
29
Joined 30th June 2016Forum Posts: 749
Just Once (Living River Of Hell)
'The trouble with being a woman, Skeezix,
is being a little girl in the first place'
'If this is Hell, then Hell could not be much,
neither as special or as ugly as I was told.'
-Anne Sexton
I am diagnosed dragging on a Camel,
staring at the river, full of all the selves
of detachmemt from my actual one.
They used to be me as one self when I was
fused into the wall of my mother,
before I came here to this bridge.
I am deranging like the splitting haloes
of car headlights as they rush on that
great freeway to somewhere, nowhere.
The river is a subway and the trains are
stories of the dead derailed there.
There are pale orbs like faces saying,
we told you of such, you cannot be
cured of this indifference;
I have become the Horrid I always was,
child of a stranger, refolding into that mystery.
The house is gone with its fine bone china
and good silver, replaced with pills and notebooks.
The river swallowed the rest of it, husband, children;
the oily tragedy floats in a slick of remnants
in the same shade of black it always wore
when I dreamed of it, musing Nana with her
afternoon tea, saying, I am supposed to be
someone who cares, why can't I love this
like a great inhalation of medicine
so as not to destroy it.
The river is a great swallower of
fate's shortcomings, I figure,
if I shoot my last hopes into it
I will be that much wiser;
why can't I be the depths it reaches?
Am I so shallow in my forty years of life,
drawing on feelings that come and go,
where is the great accomplisher
to reveal my wounds and bleed them dry?
To only know, to only know.
To only be that solace I seek,
to throw myself into it, or to be
the tossed stone that sinks
into this river of memory
as if it were Hell on Earth
glistening under the city lights
flickering its dim reminders,
dead faces loving me back
as my child self loved them
wholly, once.
But now, at last we meet,
that great Mother of reunions,
I see her glaring in the forming mists
which forewarn me in a tragic welcoming.
Just once, I saw it:
The corpse I am destined to become.
.....
is being a little girl in the first place'
'If this is Hell, then Hell could not be much,
neither as special or as ugly as I was told.'
-Anne Sexton
I am diagnosed dragging on a Camel,
staring at the river, full of all the selves
of detachmemt from my actual one.
They used to be me as one self when I was
fused into the wall of my mother,
before I came here to this bridge.
I am deranging like the splitting haloes
of car headlights as they rush on that
great freeway to somewhere, nowhere.
The river is a subway and the trains are
stories of the dead derailed there.
There are pale orbs like faces saying,
we told you of such, you cannot be
cured of this indifference;
I have become the Horrid I always was,
child of a stranger, refolding into that mystery.
The house is gone with its fine bone china
and good silver, replaced with pills and notebooks.
The river swallowed the rest of it, husband, children;
the oily tragedy floats in a slick of remnants
in the same shade of black it always wore
when I dreamed of it, musing Nana with her
afternoon tea, saying, I am supposed to be
someone who cares, why can't I love this
like a great inhalation of medicine
so as not to destroy it.
The river is a great swallower of
fate's shortcomings, I figure,
if I shoot my last hopes into it
I will be that much wiser;
why can't I be the depths it reaches?
Am I so shallow in my forty years of life,
drawing on feelings that come and go,
where is the great accomplisher
to reveal my wounds and bleed them dry?
To only know, to only know.
To only be that solace I seek,
to throw myself into it, or to be
the tossed stone that sinks
into this river of memory
as if it were Hell on Earth
glistening under the city lights
flickering its dim reminders,
dead faces loving me back
as my child self loved them
wholly, once.
But now, at last we meet,
that great Mother of reunions,
I see her glaring in the forming mists
which forewarn me in a tragic welcoming.
Just once, I saw it:
The corpse I am destined to become.
.....
Written by PoetsRevenge
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