2-Frozen In Time

January 14, 2009

“Write ‘from the child‘,” I heard my friend say,
“Cause children are loving and carefree and gay.
I was getting so angry (but what he said sounded good)
Still there was something he’d not yet understood….

Some children are wounded and locked up inside
Of a past they have buried and work hard to deny.
I sped home in turmoil, my guts starting to writhe
Trying to outrun the fears deep inside.

But the memories surfaced as I let the words come
Describing on paper the things that were done
And the feelings thawed that were frozen in time
As I began to accept “the child’s” story was mine.

(To begin at the first poem, click here)

Daddy, I don’t understand
How this could be part of God’s plan.
You look at me like I’m not there
And act like you don’t even care.

You never left home while I grew
But your love I never quite knew.
You weren’t even part of my life–
Except when your words cut like a knife!

Then when you called me a whore,
I never knew what that was for….
But Daddy, I’m starting to see.
Daddy, you helped do this to me!

You were wrong when you said
God couldn’t love me.
He loves and accepts me, it’s true.
He knows about all that has happened.
And Daddy, He even loves you!

I know you were hurt as a young man.
That’s part of why you hurt me too.
Daddy, I don’t really hate you,
But I’m wounded. I carry scars too.

God knows about Daddys and daughters.
He knows about all of the pain.
With a heart of tender compassion
He longs to free us from the shame.

But Daddy, you have to admit it–
That you need help and that you were wrong.
Then He can mercifully help you
To turn your sorrow into a song.

God gave me people to show me
How Daddy’s should love little girls.
I am so glad that I know now–

I’m not bad! I’m His loved little girl!

34-I Survived!

January 19, 2009

They said there was no hope for me–
They said I’d surely lose.
They said God couldn’t forgive me–
That destruction was all I could choose.

They said I got what I asked for,
I deserved everything that came.
They said they were better than I was
And that it would never change.

They said that I was stupid and fat
Nobody would ever care.
They said no one would believe me
If my pain I tried to share.

They said I was the family disgrace
(Like the Aunt they couldn’t stand).
They told me they wished I had never been born
(Forgetting life comes from God’s hands).

Guess kids are tough and hard to destroy
No matter how hard you try.
Whatever they did, God gave me the grace–
I’m here to rejoice, I SURVIVED!

33-It Was “That Bad!”

January 19, 2009

Denial–what a wonderful way
To make it through another day.

Take a drink to numb the pain
That’s not really there (it’s all hard to explain).

Pop a pill (not for a thrill)
But just to survive, if you must act alive.

“The way out is through…” so what do I do?
I’m hurt! I’m afraid.
I don’t know what to say!

Am I too bad for God to redeem?
There’s my failure before
(I’m not what I seem).

The pain won’t go away.
The guilt seems here to stay.
Too scared to live. Too tired to die.
Got no more tears left to cry.

Denial worked–now it’s gone.
I hurt. I’m alone.
Not sure how to go on.

Where do I belong?
Been to hell…know it well!
Don’t have a soul left to sell.

So I open my heart–it’s a start.
Rescue me, God.
Or again, as before,
I am gone.
I come to You as I am.
Will You also turn me away?

32-Where Did I Go?

January 19, 2009

The missing years, the empty fears
The empty space hiding my disgrace
(Even from myself…..)

I’m still afraid-that’s nothing new.
Fear’s my old friend–it got me through.

I fractured like a pot of clay
When I “let” the perverts have their way.

I sold my soul to a twisted man
Then fractured again–all I understand.

I didn’t have the tools to be
Whatever it took to be safe or free.

I became a reflection of anyone near
Trying to hide the hurt and the fear.

God, were you there? Did You care?
Do You share the hurt and fear?

Can I be healed? Do I matter at all?
Will I ever be able to feel?

Help me, if You’re there.
I can’t do this alone.
I have nowhere to go.
I won’t let anybody care.

Will You?

31-Sunday Morning Saint

January 19, 2009

(to all the “good Christian” abusers in my life)

He’s a Sunday Morning Saint-
Looks so good (but really ain’t)
As he gathers his children ’round,
Drags them off to holy ground.

Daddy loves to scream and shout
And dump his fury out
To control those who are near
With some rage, some threats, some fear.

Their Daddy loves to sing
And proclaim Christ is his “king.”
Yep, he’s “worshipping the Lord”
(While his kids wonder what for).

See, their Daddy is a “righteous man>”
He just has some “secrets” planned.
He’s got all this “love” to share
With the children in His care.

Guess their Daddy doesn’t know
They may pay with tender souls.
The love he thinks is free
Could cost some eternally.

Bitter tears uncried
Can fester deep inside.
They may pay for Daddy’s sin
Laying down their lives for him.

This Sunday morning saint
Who pretends to be what he ain’t
Creates a living hell
For the kids who know him too well.

30-From a “Nice” Family

January 19, 2009

“Spend the night at your house?
I’d love to. Sure.”
Sounds like fun.
(Didn’t know what was in store).

How funny, I thought.
Could she want to be friends?
(I didn’t realize she liked women…
Not just men.)

I was naive and stupid.
I didn’t have a clue
What this “nice” respectable
Girl planned to do.

“Here…wear this negligee…
It looks good on you.
You can sleep in my bed–
I’ve got room for you.”

WHY is she touching me?!?!?!
(This is getting real weird!)
“Kiss me,” she says.
God! It’s worse than I feared!

But who would believe me
Or who’d even care?
I came from the gutter–
She came from “up there.”

If something bad happened
The cause had to be me.
It couldn’t be her
From that “nice family.”

If I called my parents
To come rescue me,
They’d be too embarrassed,
Sure the problem was me.

They’d already taught me
I was dirty and bad.
So I couldn’t expect help
From my mother or dad.

I kept begging and begging her,
“Please, won’t you quit!?
I don’t like what you’re doing–
It makes me feel sick!”

When she went to sleep,
I wanted to go home.
But midnight is too late
To walk ten miles alone.

The next day, I left there
As soon as I could
And tried to forget
I could never be “good.”

At church I pretended
She was what she seemed
And tried not to vomit
Or make a bad scene.

Years later, I found out
Her brother raped her for years.
(But it didn’t stop my nightmares
Or dry all the tears).

The moral of the story is:
Who gives a damn
When you come from the side
Of the tracks that I’m from.
If bad things happen
To come your way,
It’s because “you asked for it”
That’s what they all say.

29-Her Fault

January 19, 2009

“It was her fault,”
That’s what they say
When the grown-up man
Makes the little girl pay.

“The whore! She asked for it!”
Why don’t they know–
She pays a price.
(She pays with her soul).

Is he just an animal
With no control-
This adult male
Who makes pleasure his goal?

Or does he just choose
To have his own way,
Not caring that inside
She dies each day?

“It’s her fault,” they tell her.
“One mustn’t seduce
These hormone filled males.
They can’t pass up youth!”

Kill ’em. God!
Make them pay
With their saintly souls
Like she does each day.

Give them some pain
They can never forget
Like the guilt and the shame
That haunt her yet.

Wake them up
In the dark of the night
Wanting to vomit
Because of the fright.

Let the righteous old ladies
Pay, pay, pay, pay!
For the damning,
Ignorant things that they say.

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