bad childhood

MY PARENTS SAW TOO MANY THINGS

My mother got pregnant

My father had to marry her

Because the abortion did not work

Then put in childcare

From day one

Nearly died by third month

Then raised by people

Crazed by war and abuse

Too old to be parents

For me they had only one use

Old age insurance

Who could blame them

Relatives dispersed

All over the world

Lonely all my life

No fun at all

We sit in mourning

For all who did fall

No circuses, no fun rides

No fancy dresses

No self-pride

Reserved

Repressed

On a leash

Keep phoning home

Parents go crazy

If I am one minute late

They see the death camps

They see the angel

With his dark wings

My parents saw

Too many things.

I AM SCARED TO GO HOME AFTER SCHOOL

i am 14 years old and i go to school each day
i have lots of friends and the teachers are nice
however when the school day ends
i am scared to go home

my daddy died and my mother is a widow
got herself a boyfriend - lucky she thought
it is hard to find a man
when you are the age as my mother
so she did what she can and found Vladimir

Vladimir himself gave a good impression
came over from Russia with good intentions
learned English - got a job
and kept it for a while
then came the recession
no job for him
he was dejected
started drinking and drugging

he sold his soul to the devil
he no longer goes to church
and he has found a new direction
of pimping me out

first he crept into my bed
in the middle of the night
told me he would kill me
if i would shout

i told my mother
who hit me when i told her
said i was a liar
told me to shut up

now when i get home
Vlad always has a “friend”
who gets to sleep with me
and Vlad gets his money
by using me this way
as much as he can

when i got pregnant
i could only tell him
he took me to a doctor
who took it out
and put me on the pill
i take every day

so everyday i have homework
the type the teacher gives
and then i go home to work
as a little prostitute

the neighbor lady knows
she is nice to me
she has phoned a social worker
who came around one day
but Vlad with his charm
got her to go away

my mother gets home at 7
i get home at 4
for three hours all i do is fuck
men i have not met before
i am thinking of killing myself
it is the only way out
to stop this horrible stress
but i have to think of my mother
what would she do
without me and does she really doubt me?

FEEDBACK - this is a very good idea for a competition because it is so inclusive...everybody had a childhood....good luck...hope you get many submissions...
Peace
Kitty

Preacher, teacher 
Un-Godly creature 
Dream stalker 
Straight-line walker 
Memory maker .... Soul taker 
Hypocrite .... Faker 
Innocence lost 
Childhood tossed 

Huge hands pressed 
Against my chest 
Exploring tongue 
Burning lung 
First experience 
Kept in silence 

Bus driver, neighbor - a family friend 
Who thought it okay for rules to bend 
Anger, terror - mixed as one 
Memories of 
When I was young

blurry lines

my mother drew the line at him informing me
how to shoot up
like it was meant to be funny
educating a kid on how to be a junky

it’s moments like that where I wonder
if words can kill
the memory of them like the cigarette burn
I’ll forever carry on my arm
from the time he hugged me
while happily drunk  

there’s a temptation that plays over in my head
eggs and beer being washed through my hair
with tears that run down my face
in humiliation and a lack of understanding
of how coating a seven year old in beer
is funny

boys brought up with God complexes
with cocks like guns
used as weaponry against the “fairer sex”
as though every little girl needs a “daddy” figure
to teach her about belt straps
and bucket bongs

and men are never wrong
even when they’re never right
and everything is so fucking serious
all the time
no time for chocolate
when the scales have added a pound
“drop and gimme twenty!”

she drew the line at him telling me how to shoot up
and reminded me every day that I was beautiful
and not to worry about silly men that called me fat
but the thing about having an absent father figure
and random men come in and out of your life
is there is always a desire to find that approval
in men that don’t deserve it
and they taught me things
no child should ever have to know

she never had the courage to do it differently

Because of Me

The guilt and regret won't leave my mind as I enter this church for you
All our memories keep swirling through my brain as I sit here on this wooden pew.
I can't bring myself to talk about you; when asked I say I have just one sister
For the pain I feel when I think of you burns within me like a thousand boiling blisters.
I wish I could still say I had two sisters, that I wasn't always the family's "baby"
If only I had been braver and stronger back then, maybe, just maybe,
You, baby sister, would still be here, and I never would've had to say goodbye
But instead I'm at your funeral, and I know it's my fault you're here...I'm the one who let you die.
As your small casket passes by, I can't stop the quivering sobs, or the stream of tears
And my mind forces me again and again to relive that day, like a never ending nightmare.
You were five at the time, and I had just turned eight
We'd been through many foster homes, some halfway decent, others not so great.
But this house was worse than the others; the people were crueler, the beatings more severe
I should've done something in the beginning, maybe begged our workers to take us far away from here.
Yet I did nothing, but instead tried to prepare you for the agonizing days to come
I told you to expect more empty stomachs, and beatings that would leave us numb.
For though I knew this house was worse, I thought we'd survive the same way
We'd listen to the yelling, endure the pain, and hope that tomorrow would be a better day.
Until the day came where our foster father decided to prove me oh so wrong
The day he beat you just a little too much, for just a little too long.
You had tried to take some food from the pantry, for the stomach pains were finally too much to bear
But you were caught by him, and he didn't listen to your pleading or begging, for he simply didn't care.
I thought it was just another beating, and so I stood waiting in the shadows in the hall
I didn't want to make it worse, or get beat myself, so I watched even as he threw you against the wall.
Over and over he beat you with with his fists, and with his belt
And still I waited, praying he'd stop soon, so I could attend to your bruises and your welts.
But he was not himself, but high off of one of the many drugs he had in his secret room
And as the minutes dragged by, I began to feel overwhelmed by a sense of doom.
When his hand reached for the wooden bat his son used for baseball, my heart stopped
I screamed at him, but still watched helplessly as the bat quickly dropped.
I can still hear it in my ears, the crack of the bat as it smashed against your head
I can still see it with my eyes, the sight of your blood splattering against the wall, painting it dark red.
As others saw what had happened and dragged him away, I ran to you, but no matter how hard I tried
I couldn't wake you up, and finally had to admit, that my little sister had just died.
And so here I am, weeks later, staring at your lifeless body, wishing that I could once again see those beautiful blue eyes
Unable to block out all the sorrow and pain, while wondering over and over why.
Why did I do nothing to save you, why did I give in to my fear
This regret is something I know I'll have to live with for the many upcoming years.
With tear filled eyes and a broken heart, I tell you I'm sorry, give you one last kiss, and slowly walk away
Praying that perhaps I'll be forgiven, so that I may see you again in Heaven one day.

I wake from dreams where terrors creep
I wake to realize I'm not asleep
No - little girls don't sleep at night
They strain their ears - eyes wide with fright
With hopes of hearing Angels fly

Oh please dear God - PLEASE not tonight

But only my pillow hears me call             While God sleeps soundly thru it all

Rock-a-bye baby - please don't cry - cuz Daddies gonna sing you a lull-a-bye

I hear his footsteps down the hall
His breath I smell thru door - thru wall
His laughter echoes in my mind
I close my eyes so I'll be blind

Hush sweet darling - don't make a sound - or daddies gonna knock you  round and around

Open mouth - but silence falls
Screams go unheard thru lonely walls
No one hears me - daddy don't
No one hears me - mama won't

Only my pillow hears me call -  While god sleeps soundly thru it all

Rock-a-bye sweet child - now don't you fear - YOUR DADDIES GONNA LOVE YOU FOR YEARS AND YEARS.

A Man I Didn't Know

My father recently died, but I didn't know him.
Well not in the way that I wish I had.
I wish I had known him as a good man.
But I do not hold an opinion for a man that I did not know.
My mother told me everything:

How he didn't want me.
How he was never there for me.
How he tried to hurt me, twice.
How he was always on one side of the bar or the other.

But who was the man that was there when my mother wasn't then?
Now after he's dead my mom says that he cried when I was born.
Why didn't she say that before?
Before I ignored his phone calls and didn't care when he got sick?
Why didn't she tell me all the good things about him when I was growing up.
No I grew up knowing only the bad parts of the man that was my father.
What about the time he threatened some kid for throwing a cinder block at me?
Or what about when he would take my to Six Flags and we'd stay at the water park all day.
He was the one that got me to stop saying sorry for everything, because that was what I was suppose to do with one of my mother's boyfriends.

He wasn't a bad man.
He just didn't understand how to be a dad.
His own father left for another family when he was ten.
His siblings hated him because he told their mother about his father's girlfriend.
He was shunned from that moment on.
He got a girl named Pamela pregnant when he was sixteen.
That was my sister, Leeann.
Then they had my other sister, Kelly.
My dad was working three jobs at the time.
Pamela got sick when she was twenty-one.
She died and left two small children with my father.
He didn't know what to do.
His mother took over taking care of them.
He continued to work three jobs.
That's when he started drinking, he lost the love of his life.
And he didn't know how to be a dad.
His father had left before he could learn anything useful.

He met another girl and got her pregnant twice.
First was my sister, Amanda.
Then my brother, D.J.
There was suppose to be another girl but she died.
And my dad didn't want to tell the mother because he probably did know how to handle that kind of pain.

Nine years later he met my mother.
And they had me.
He didn't believe she was pregnant at first.
And maybe, just maybe it was because he didn't want to have more children in the world.
Maybe he didn't want to let anyone else down.

But he had me, Anne-Marie.
And he married my mother.
He continued to drink and go out to the bar.
Because these were old habits that he couldn't break.
I learned not to touch alcohol from him.
And I learned not to want to smoke.
I hated bars and then men that were in them.

But when I grew up I didn't know that my dad's heart was too broke to ever mend.
I didn't know that he was sad.
I didn't know that he had, had so much loss.
I didn't even know he had become a father at such a young age the first time.
My siblings hated him and they hated me.
I never knew why, now I know it was because he loved me.
He cried when I was born.
He tried to protect me.
And he did go places with me.
As I grew older I got annoyed with his choices and the arguing between mother and father.

But still I loved him.
And I tried to be a good daughter for him.
I guess that's why it hurts to much.
That when I finally gave up on him because he was constantly bothering my mother at the end of his life.
I ignored him too.
I didn't want to see him.
Wasting away in a wheel chair or a hospital bed.
But when I found out that he was dying.
When I knew it was really going to happen.
That's when I had given up on him.

And that's when he died.

I saw him one last time before he died, he was in too much pain to stay awake.
The pain killers kept him asleep.
But he heard me.
I held his hand and stroked his face.
And I cried until I made myself sick.

But now he's dead.
And the man that I knew was the man he was.
I will never know the man he really was.
All of the good things about him no one thought to mention when he was alive.
So my father wasn't a bad man.
And maybe he wasn't a good man.

But he was my dad and I did love him.
And I just hope that he knew that about me.
That he knew that I was the daughter out of all of his kids that loved him.

Because I did, no matter who he was-- I loved him.

Little Girl





Little Girl  
Is what they called me
While making my insides bleed
Holding me down  
Listening to me scream
But i was...
A Little Girl
Being beat
Choked and gagged
Beyond all means
Tears falling from my face
My abdomen bruised
And the insides of my legs
Just a Little Girl
Being taken advantage
Tied up and bound
To a bed while there all around
Eying my petite  
Undeveloped body
What do they see?
A piece of meat
But its a Little Girl
That's what they said
"Little Girl bow your head
I didn't know any better
I thought she was my friend
Now her whole family
Sees between my bend
Little Girl
She was too
But she joined in
Like she wasn't
Her hands holding my feet
I knew this was defeat
Hours felt like days
In this place called hell
Where they were raised
"Little girl don't say a thing"
While they untied the string
Limping home, where i went
No justice for me
Little Girl never able
To feel free
 

This is so very sad and terrible...

very sad this horrible epidemic is happening to so many innocent children

This poem is what I have felt and
observed as a child in Africa amongst
many



The laughter of evil - story of an African boy



I, who have woken hungry
Beaten by poverty
Sent to a distant land
By parents who cannot feed
I am a slave
Working for survival
In my grey cloth
Tell me where is
Where is our God


Blood marks this entire body
From the beatings and whips
This back is no longer a canvas
But a trainline holding a wreck
Cutting like sugarcane
Beaten by the sun
Struck by the Black Mamba
Red like the earth I ask
Where is our God


I have no voice
For I am voiceless
A pitcher without water
And a body without a mind
I am a slave to a master
A child in the African way
Across the great Niger
I have been sent to die
Where is our God


For the days and nights
That I dragged this lifeless body
Seeking salvation from the masters
Whipped and beaten over and over
Bashed and broken
Dragging a left leg
With foot gashed
Until I could escape by death
In the hot African sun


Where was my God
When I lay before my master
Begging for mercy
And not the laughter of evil
I was his mirror
As he was mine
Laugh cry laugh cry
"Until you die"
and I did

Here is our God

Home with the Cleavers

Perfect little suburbia, two kids, one car
Mom at home, Dad escaped to work and stayed

Riding the rollercoaster, holding on for dear life
A thousand baked cookies, or shades drawn in her room

Getting into trouble, perhaps for attention
Then hearing "wait till your father gets home"

Wanting his approval, like all boys do
Never quite good enough, or so I felt

Excelling at so much, though never hearing pride
"What about that "B+"", despite all of the "A"s

Watching Dad watch the news, then fall asleep
Hear his late night Highballs and shouting at my Mom

Feeling my highs and lows, so very unaware
A genetic curse, not yet manifested

One dark Thursday, ugliness seered in memory
Kissing lessons on the couch led to manhood

And so it went, year by year, till ...
Graduation and college as far away as I could go

Preparing for my own sunset, a retirement richly earned
I fear and regret that I will have to become their parent

Forced to take them on, nurture them both
Being better to each than they were to me ...

Secret

The secret in my mind
is lined with dreams and lies
the only time it haunts me
is when I close my eyes.

That's when I see his face
the smile on his chin
the coldness of his eyes
his hand upon my skin.

I remember the sweetness of his voice
to hide his true intent
but when he posed his question
he begged for my consent.

What was I to do?
I was way too young
every word was stuttered
I was choking on my tongue.

I held the tears behind my eyes
I would be strong that day
and even though he pleaded
my answer wouldn't sway.

I remember he was forceful
with his hand upon my hip
his other hand had shushed me
and placed it on my lip.

The story fades away
it's put back on my shelf
it seems the darkest of my secrets
I'm keeping from myself.