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Psychological Abuse

Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 2nd Nov 2016
Forum Posts: 54

Poetry Contest

Write a poem about psychological abuse

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 31st Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 411

Untitled - Notepad

Untitled - Notepad
SatInUGal (Kumar)
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Thought Provoker
Trinidad and Tobago
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Joined 18th Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 92

Abusive father

Four and a half years old through a glass sliding door hit the wall bleeding as your mom gets her turn beaten and burned slapped around and forced as she cried in pain not for the act but for the fact that he made me watch... Baby I'm sorry she cried out to me filled with Wells overflowing as we both in pain bled in the comfort of each other's arms when he was done, made remarks as though I'm his lover and not his son, laughed as death threats were made about one million and one ways while waving around a blade. Subsequently as I got older I had a little brother who died in the arms of my mother from starvation, prayers to God didn't matter, just when you think it's over and life gets better I lost my mother, I lost my mother. On her birthday I was her celebration now on our birthday I light candles and buy flowers for what's left of her, just a unmarked grave in a yard no one visits as life goes on I'm grown but still relive the horror, alone and broken by a abusive Father.
Written by Michael_Goodridge (M_Goodridge)
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Frank Statile
Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 13th Jan 2019
Forum Posts: 5


All I could see was destruction.
The hole you left in my heart, gaping.
Was this idea of your construction?
To add desolation with no hope of escaping.

You claim to have lost your love for a while.
If that is true, then why did you remain?
Was you leaving me for another an example of your guile?
After all this was not the first time you hurt another for your personal gain.

You have left, but your memory will stay.
Your image forever engraved into my brain.
How I wish your presence upon my mind would go away.
After all your memory is nothing more than a stain.

You tugged and you tugged, on my heart with a string.
You should have know it takes more to de throne a king.
Written by Jomamma97 (Frank Statile)
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Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 10th July 2016
Forum Posts: 13


That eureka moment when you realize your existence lies in the lust of man.
I find my purpose in that of SPREAD LEG.
I give away my being as easy as common courteously only to end up CONVENIENT pussy.
I guess his penis inside of me makes me whole.
But still somebody.
Maybe no Jesse Jackson but I am something to somebody.
Rather that, than empty.
I’m filled.
Even if it is with semen.
Even if I am labeled as a whore. and marked with scarlet letter.
I get whatever side of dirty nasty stinky filthy love I can get because it is all that has been offered to me.
If any ever offered at all.
And all I have left to show for it is this beaten up pussy to remind me of my failed attempts to find life’s meaning in another because I wasn't brave enough to seek it within myself.
If only they knew that I wasn’t doing it for the nut but to fill my voids and numb my already swollen pains.
I’ve risked my only key to getting into to heaven on faith in HE.
I've sacrificed my own flesh, God’s gift to me 'life' and I choose to give it away so recklessly because I believe that maybe one day something good is going come out of all this...
and barely find the time to get to know who's body I'm stuck in.
I don’t know ME.
I desire to be with a woman to experience only what I myself could not amount to.
I long to taste the inside of SHE what no one showed me how to be and what I could never be on my own her perfect is delicious and that’s joy in my world.

Sylvia Perry 2014©
Written by MotDi (Sylvia)
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Fire of Insight
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Joined 24th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 265

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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 20th Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 324

one way or the other

there was a time
I would have done anything
for you
altered my appearance
changed the shape of my body
become who you thought you needed
crawled through the gates of hell
if that's what you wanted
though in the end
I did that crawl anyway
as I watched you walk away
while I cried and I begged
I felt that first liberating break
in my agony I mistook it
for a heart's shattered remains
at the time I didn't recognize
it was the first miniscule shift
allowing the weight of us to lift
just a fraction of an inch
enough for a shuddering breath
had I known then
I would have risen
picked myself up off the floor
where you so callously left me
and locked that damn door
as I swallowed the last of those pills
curled tightly around my pain
empty bottle by my side
falling asleep with flooded eyes

I've always wondered
when you returned hours later
shaking me furiously awake
were you so angry
because you thought me dead
or because I wasn't?
I would have done anything for you
what I do now
I do for me

Copyright © 2018 FromTheAsh. All Rights Reserved
Written by FromTheAsh
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Thought Provoker
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 141

His Daddy

His daddy, gone for two months now,
Another trip for work
He loves his daddy anyhow
A child’s love can’t be irked
His birthday, yesterday, was sad
No word or package came
He was forgotten by his dad
Like last year—just the same
Other boys are learning sports
Their fathers teach them well
He tries without his dad's support
And fails, a bitter hell
By eighth grade, expectations quelled
But hope still taunts his heart
He wears the mask that all is well
His soul is torn apart
Now in his college freshman year
Dad calls to ask, "You well?"
He struggles, fighting back a tear
And answers, "Go to hell!"
Written by ReggiePoet (Reggie)
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- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Joined 26th June 2011
Forum Posts: 7254

The Revenant

In a nearby park            
was a wooden bench            
next to an art installation            
local stanzas, written            
by local poets.            
Reading through black eyes            
adds a new flavour of pain            
to words already written.            
I slept there that evening,          
nothing but poetry for a bed            
beneath hopeless stars.            
“Why don’t you leave...            
look at your fucked up face,         
who’s going to want you now?”
I believed it too.            
My fists pounded wood            
from the inside out            

I struggle to deal            
with planes            
packed trains            
busses to Hell.            
He’d locked the door—            
it was a party trick            
until I broke down            
from hunger            
until my sleepless corpse            
knew the meaning of            
e m p t y            
His Father watched me            
chew my busted lip            
as I sat in the kitchen.            
He never said            
he knew            
he gently slid tea    
across the table,            
placing his hand            
on my shoulder            
as he left.            
Heard his old man died            
a few years ago.            
I wished it was him.            
I fucking wished it was            
Blood lined my hall            
arm broken—            
a hammer sleeping            
“the day you tell anybody...            
this is your fucking  
He threw a sponge at my feet,            
watched me clean wreckage            
Hospital had become            
a well-rehearsed play;            
a clumsy ladder fall            
a slammed car door        
tumbles in the yard.        
It was March 6th—            
I slept the streets            
for months            
too frightened            
to return home,            
too weak to rise:  
not good enough            
pretty enough            
strong enough.
I still believe            
in ghosts.
Written by Miss_Sub (- Missy -)
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 2059

History of Sacrilege

The crying trees bend their heads, loosening.
Tiny specks move from a distance where nothing asks for reasons.
A voice within speaks "I am not the same person now, I wasn't even that person
back then"
One night She awoke to her fleeting thoughts.
Wondering how it came to pass, how did you come to impale me with a sharpened spear
Hammered pain into vital tender tendrils whilst you
Scorned my love for you.
Several times she escaped him though the first time was the worst.
And the torture of the first hurt, the pain of knowing this is really happening to me.
When that hand you once ached for turns into a flaming palm against your skin.
And you know it wont be the last inflamation, and the execution of his eyes.
When you look you remember the farest dark.
A medevial assasination of your sacred feminine self
The worst was having to wait for "it" to be over. Laying face down on the floor while
he kicked me. And the shame, the loathing, the loating within. Discovering the large dark stains over my back, Perhaps this is what death feels like.
How I weep for my instincts to wake me, he is a ghost now, incoherent
I am the noble rotten truth which shines under the sunset. I am the edge, our love a tightrope, an abyss.  
Time doesn not mend,  the chasm within where the sacred feminine is stored.
It fed flames in secrets he knows not, years, it took me, years....
I awoke to my thoughts of wild and loving books filling my words with strength
The sea gave me her tears and the water wakes each neutron of my brain.
Each time I meet him the stake is driven deep into the old pain
I awoke to my thoughts of wild running streams, the numinous object of me never sleeps. I no longer fear daylight.
Written by AEMelia564 (Y)
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Lost Thinker
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Joined 22nd July 2014
Forum Posts: 29


Now we have all heard the old addage about sticks and stones. However I must digress to reveal that it's message is absurdly unreal. Words can cut deeper then the sharpest knife. Leaving scars that do not heal and in some cases may even end a life. The tounge can be the most dangerous weapon known to man. Yet we cannot put a lock on this weapon nor require a license for its use. So sadly I must admit each of us must control it's abuse. The guileded tounge even makes us believe it's lie. When we are put down we sometimes act strong, yet alone we cry. And it sadness me to admit that at times we are all part it. We have said things we regret harmful words that even if we try to make amends. Thee fellings they brought out in our victims they wont forget. What is sadder still are those that really just don't care. They use thier words on purpose like a gun. They tear us down with no mercy to spare. They bleed us dry and leave us no safe place to run. We cannot hide from the things they say. There is no shield to keep those words away. Some feel so trapped and psychologically abused, there is only one way out they decide. Unfortunately we can no longer try to help them after they commit suicide.
Written by HowlingHeart
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 479

The worst psychological
there is
is when one has suffered
when one was a child
and survived
the crazy times
and yet
still hasn't
mastered the ability
to grow
a thick skin
while dealing with
what one is hiding

Dangerous Mind
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Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 479

Daddy says
he loves me
when his drunk
After he beats
me and my mum
daddy is only happy
when he makes me play
the secret
sticky fingers game
daddy says
if I show and tell
me and my mum
will go to hell
coz daddy says
all he has to do
is shake and cry
and say sorry
and those nice people
with the dolls
will make me
go back
to the bad place
that they say
is my home

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 22nd Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 69

Is It Too Early For Tequila?

Is it too early for tequila?    
because wine just won't suffice  
altered in misdirection      
was any of this meant to be?    
free basing raw vanilla    
life has taken the best of me    
how I got here?      
your guess is as good as mine    
living in the shadows of substance    
missing only bars while I'm doing time    
my heart bleeds my soul    
but was passion ever seen    
tongues can't talk cut in half    
even in Latin life was mean    
father's being father's    
playing dodgeball in uncaged halls    
lurking amongst the shadows    
bells silently stroking before the fall    
hearts hid out in a desert    
trusting of nothing coming near    
realised feelings never released    
it wasn't living, it was fear    
time covering for indiscretion    
kindness begging to be heard    
breeding and bottles eloping    
giving meaning to the absurd    
words spilt in spurts of blood      
cutting out the hatred of past    
knowing only power of forgiveness    
can heal all the pain that lasts  
I don't ask of any to love me    
or hear it fall from pretty lips    
I'm just taking in      
ever bit of beautiful    
daily in tiny sips
Written by JusTim_
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David Macleod
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 1110


David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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