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Childhood Violence Poems | Violence Poems About Childhood

These Childhood Violence poems are examples of Violence poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Childhood Violence poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir,my innocence is gone now, no more fear ,
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain !
I was crying, i was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and I looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world,that what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir,my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was blind!
having hidden hatred inside,a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds,that you marked,
yes,you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.


Details | Narrative |

Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay



Details | Free verse |

THE COLORS OF LIFE

Bombs explode.
Conflicts in night
CNN reports of terror. 
Lives being scrutinized
A blood bath
The colors are everywhere.
Scores of eyes look around scared.
The code is RED.

In desperation, stands a child.
His arm is bleeding.
He is begging for his life.
A blood bath lay before him.
His eyes are scared.
He hiccups and he was left there.

His colors of life are psychedelic.
He sees the code.
He freaks out.
He rolls around intoxicated.
He forgets for a moment himself.

A little girl hallucinates.
Her father and mother ran away.
They shouted to her, “Hide any place.
Your life with us is no longer safe.”
She seeks a hole under a shed.
The terrorist left her there.

The colors of life are a child’s demon.
In darkness, you can hear them scream.
Their parents give the code.
Once given, a child world becomes cold.

Infants are shot.
She died.
Her twin did not.
The terrorist left uninformed.
The clock ticked another baby's life - gone.

The colors of life are a child’s mourn.
They lives are forsaken by those grown.
In time of trouble, they must take care of home.
The colors of life are obligatory.
The code is BLOOD.
_____________________________|
04/12/2014


Details | Ballad |

How do we stop this evil

How do we stop this evil?

Little folk come out to play
Their hearts brim filled with joy
While foulest men, with deep, dark souls
Their innocence destroy
As the world becomes a poison place
Cause who can small minds trust?
Because of sour brittle, hearts
All filled with grime and lust
Childlike joy begins to fade
And life turns kind of sour
How will they flower??

A happy place all filled with joy
Is how it’s meant to be
So little children filled with life
Can feel alive and free
Yet dark warped ghouls all filled with lust
With evil in their hearts
They prey on all this innocence
And tear small hearts apart
These little souls, they be our future
They must be nurtured well
Or time will tell.

Butterflies no longer fly
And birds no longer sing
With only fear within their hearts
No joy does life then bring
For little folk just made to love
How does this evil grow
Oh, I don’t know!!.

It seems the world don’t care enough
To stop this crime for good
So children, they can laugh and play
In a good safe neighbourhood
If the remedy don’t come real soon
The future looks real grim
These children, they will rule some day
Then decency will dim
Because young minds so badly poisoned
Can only come from fear
This seems so clear.


Details | Kyrielle |

The Red Tide

On every continent children are gleaned
for horrific deeds for few intervene;
terrified by brutality, often shunned,
the rabid rape of youth can't be undone.

Girls and boys stolen and sold as slaves
taken by force from our schools to graves,
fanatics with guns molest our girls for fun.
The rabid rape of youth can't be undone.

It has been so long since they've felt safe
small children behind high walls lose faith.
Sons and daughters martyred every one.
The rabid rape of youth can't be undone.

So parents protect your children from harm
run from the countries which incite alarm.
There's no wall built that can shield from a gun.
The rabid rape of youth can't be undone.


Details | Free verse |

Dear Dad

Dear Dad 				
Why don’t you love me? 
The small brown eyed girl asked her father as he beat her at night,
 then with a smile in the morning he’d scoop her up in his arms to play.
Why don’t you love me? 
The bigger brown eyed girl asked her father as he walked out and
never came back.
Why don’t you love me? 
The young brown eyed girl asked her boyfriend of two years,
As he walked out the same door her father did eight years before.
Never to return.
Why didn’t you love me?
The older brown eyed girl asked her father at his funeral.
As she leaned over the edge of his casket and kissed him gently on the forehead,
Tears running down her cheeks.
Why couldn’t you love me? 
The oldest brown eyed girl asked as she lays Jasmine’s and roses
On her father’s grave.
Only a row down from her old boyfriend’s,
With love that never dies.
And her question is answered in the wind, 
As the answer is whispered in her heart.
How could you love me?
If you couldn’t love yourself?


Details | Rhyme |

A Schoolboy's Cry

Behind the mask of the schoolboy's cries
Deep in hiding from the bullies lies
A boy of only ten, when it all began
Being forced to submit to a bad man

He was way much older
Putting hand's on my shoulder
To my throat he held a knife
I was afraid for my dear life

Fear of ridicule, fear of shame
Fear of smearing the family name
Not saying a word, holding it all inside
In the darkness my feelings would hide

That summer was over, but the memories were kept
Not a day would go by where the schoolboy wept
Turning to faith, to put those feelings away
Don't know if it was me or you who did sway

The years have now passed, with memories suppressed
Not once having that summer of horrors expressed



6/24/2014




Details | Rhyme |

Rag doll


Start with half a pillow case. 
Cut two patterns, darn the ends. 
Take the flattened doll like shape, 
Stuff the softest rags within. 

Knit a round and fluffy ball. 
Double sew this sturdy nose. 
Then an attic box recalled 
Of forgotten baby clothes. 

Cuddle softly, puffy face. 
Whisper firmly, "Not a peep". 
Tuck it in its hiding place 
As the doorway slowly creaks. 

Button eyes that never blink, 
Painted lips that never speak. 
Would they could, we might rethink
Just how safely children sleep. 


Gene Bourne
02-05-14


Details | Free verse |

Cabbage Patch Kids Of North Korea

     Cabbage Patch Kids Of North Korea

Most N. Koreans go to camp, Camp 22
365 days a year they stay
Eat 1 head of cabbage every day forever
They don’t need sun or play they say
Work occupies them
Children turn in their parents for some bread
Watch them tortured 
When they die the children cry with joy
Wish they had more parents to sacrifice
To glorify the state for food
Cabbage is delicious with government approval 
All children born in Camp 22 are killed at once
I guess you could say that is not very nice or much fun
But cabbage patch kids who do survive
Are permitted to eat a kernel of corn
From cow manure and work inside till they die
No less no more
It is a game of attrition not nutrition
But who are we to criticize
Camp 22 will survive


Details | Free verse |

After the Storm, Columbus Day, 1962

After the storm, my brother
(all gangly knees and elbows)
bore the brunt of its ferocious aftermath.

Every day after school
I watched his wiry biceps bulge a little
as his handsaw scritched against the tree
which had fallen diagonally across our front yard.

I witnessed the violence of metal on wood,
the violence of The King of the Mountain’s smirk
as he too watched, his greedy eyes
taking in my brother’s razor sharp collar bone,
with jaw set in furious concentration.

This imposed punishment was meant to goad my brother,
meant to tempt him to rage
so that the next time the stepdad slugged him
he would feel justified, holy even.

Kneeling on scratchy couch to watch
I scrunched my shoulders,
Folding into myself like an accordion,
gathering myself up to make of me something smaller;

I pressed my knees together
wrapping my arms around them
and lowered my head,
waiting for the sky to rain trees
with swollen trunks, and branches thrust downward
as if warding off a sickening impact with earth.

My brother, it seems,
must be punished for the crime of
his existence;

for this the stepdad’s eyes shone bright,
bright as the heavy duty flashlights
he begrudgingly loaned my brother
so he could work far into the night.

His eyes fairly burned with lust—
The lust of sadism’s glee.
I saw him lick his lips;
You’d have thought he’d conjured up this
Columbus Day Storm all by himself
for the sole purpose
of proving to my brother
that he had no right
to co-exist with him in the same universe.

I watched until my eyes burned
and my head ached dully
and my brother, sweating and chilled,
laid down his saw
swiped his arm across his forehead,
and straightening up, met my wary gaze
with the scoured look
of shame whittled down into hatred,
sawn away into stumpy pieces like an old tree trunk.

After the storm my brother cleaned up nature’s wrath.
He stood a little taller and his eyes, when they met his abuser’s,
burned unflinching.

After the storm we feigned memory loss
Pretended that nothing had shifted in our family dynamic.
We sat down to meals silent and repressed and picked up our forks
as if the stepdad hadn’t just won a major battle,
as if my brother’s days in that household were not numbered.


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