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Sad Childhood Poems | Sad Poems About Childhood

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

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Details | Free verse | |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her? 
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Copyright © cassie hellberg

Details | Rhyme | |

I Used To Be a Dreamer

I used to be a dreamer Growing up within my mind, I was no heavy sleeper By creativity confined I used to be a hero One day, and then the next I could've been Jack Sparrow Prancing between the decks I used to live in a circus With carousels and flying cats, I'd muck about without a purpose All day out, with Mr. Tall Hat I used to be a rarity From anyone else, I was unique I used to live in fantasy Believed in fairy tales, even magic Today, I am another person As normal as they define Too scared to be uncommon Afraid to be left behind Today, I live in blunt reality A world of black and white, that outlaws every little oddity and punish them on sight I have been dead before, When they took my dreams away.

Copyright © Christy NP

Details | Ballad | |

Disturbed Child

That disturbed child
The teen girl with no friends, 
and is rejected by her loved ones
She feels broken inside,
like theres no other choice
She takes the iron razor, 
she puts it to her arm and hopes the pain will fade,
but in the end it only makes her feel worse
She does this to herself not because she is sad, 
but because she doesn't think any one cares
She thinks 
What if I put this razor to my throat,
and ended my life
Would they care then?
She feels like no one cares 
What she doesn't realize is, 
if she died a river of tears would come,
even faster then the blood would run from her
If she only knew life can be brighter 
If she would only see, 
that she is loved
That disturbed child, 
We miss her
and theres no getting her back
What could we have done
Was there any changing her mind
Only God knows

Copyright © Trevor Bain

Details | Free verse | |

For Suzanne, Green and Golden

“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot

A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of 
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one 
As green,  as golden.

Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green  of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.

Epilogue: (A quoted Robert Frost Short Poem,
"Nothing Gold Can Stay")

Nature's first green is gold,
the hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
but only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief;
so dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Light Poetry | |

Fatherless Child

There once was a day I would watch every airplane.
Praying you was on it to come take me away.
As a child I wanted you around until the day, you actually came.
The day you came is the day my life forever changed.
I remember as if it was yesterday when you physically violated me.
Mental visions as early as the age of eight, but old enough to vociferate.
Visualizing mental pictures in my mind while I am awake very aware of the improper abuse I take.
Your body on me feels something like an autopsy of a dead body.
While you lay on top of me as you press aggressively on me.
Against my will your force kept me still.
I am trying to understand if you recognize who I am.
I try to say no hoping you can comprehend; I am weakling as you apprehend.
Mentally and physically I became involuntarily your property. 
A main character in a horror story, and you were my predatory.
I asked “God why?” as I bare to stare into his eyes.
This is not thee love I seek; all I wanted was my father to love me, but not like this injustice of violation of my rights.
This love is not real; not the love I wished to feel.
As he tries to stick his tongue into my mouth too young to know what this is all about.
I grip my lips painfully tight as he tries to slip his tongue inside.
I close them tighter with all my might, as he whispers, “let me love you right” 
I beg him to leave as he pried my legs open with his knees my insides scream “somebody please help me!”
As he whispers how much he loves me I’m praying for God to just kill me.
I rather be dead then a man’s punching bag.
As I lay there my body was dead, and I laid my soul to rest.
I looked around the room and seen the Old Spice on the desk the same fragrance he wore around his neck.
The sun began to rise as he began to close my thighs.
In that moment in time I had made up my mind any man that ever say they love me was just telling lies.
I learned the hard way that love does not kill your inside; love does not take your pride.
A fatherless child I shall forever reside.
Every day that passes that little eight-year-old girl dies slowly inside.
Asking Jesus,” Why permit this?” and he slowly whispers…as I gently whimpers, “faith is the light that guide you through the darkness, my words reflecting as a lamp unto my feet.”
“Walk unto my path I’m here to carry the weak, come into me you are weary and overburdened. I will carry the pain you have obtained.”
“I am your father and you are my child you are never fatherless because I’m always around.”

Copyright © twanna Irisha

Details | I do not know? | |

Anger Pain and Dramatic Stress

Anger, pain and dramatic stress 
The 3 things that I possess
Me, Reggie is okay at times
I sometimes choose to confide in my rhymes
I express my feelings through a pen
Just like some women get satisfaction through men.
This isn’t a poem because this is a thought
I have thoughts moving so fast, just too fast to be caught.
I hate being stressed
Just like I hate being possessed
I don’t mean to sound evil and mean
But I am different from the other people you have seen.
This is not a poem…this is a thought
I have thoughts moving so fast that they can’t be caught.
I have it good to some…others have it good to me
Some don’t realize how hard it is to be
A poet…it’s hard writin’ poetry with a lot of feeling
You feel forced to write something appealing
You break down cause cus’ you feel an obligation
To write good poetry that there breaks your concentration
I found a solution that my mind’s fighting
Maybe I should stop all the poetry and all the writing
These are fast ideas too fast to be caught
This isn’t a poem this is just a thought

Copyright © Reginald Sellers

Details | Free verse | |

in absolute darkness

Do you know what its like to be 
in absolute darkness?
I do. 
And I want to be back
on a foggy night
where winter doesn't fall too far
the only thing you can see 
is a distant street light
yellow and gold
glowing from the distance
the wet leaves that fell from the trees 
fill the night 
with a dewy smell
I turn the key
bright headlights
flood the road
one line, two lines, 
they all combine
into a white blur keeping me 
from crossing into the abyss
I could drive forever 
I want to be gone again
back to my home.

Copyright © Amy Kramer

Details | I do not know? | |

Questions for Dad

How do you do it...
   arrested again.
Paroled for awhile
   then back to the pen.
We know you don't mean it.
   We know that you care.
But when will you show it?
   When and where?
As much as we love you
   our hate runs that strong.
Why can't you stay with us?
   What are we doing wrong?
Are your friends to blame?
   Did they help cause this bust?
What should we feel?
   Who do we trust?
Who do we love?
    Who should we hate?
Why do you burden us
    with all your stuff
       on our plate?
It's too much to handle,
     we're too young to deal.
With the heartache we have,
     with the pain that we feel.

Your our Daddy, our idol,
     our mentor for sure.
Our anger, our hope,
     we need you here more.
Your smile, our tears
     your our happiness found.
Our twinkle, our fears,
     the reason we frown.
You want us to love you
     you want us to care
But Daddy, how can we...
     when your never there!

Copyright © karin herrman

Details | Narrative | |

The Beauty in Belle

There once was a girl,
Who's name I can't tell.
To spare her the pain,
I'll just call her Belle.

Belle was a beauty
And all the beasts could see,
She was everything in a girlfriend
That they wanted theirs to be.

Belle was so trusting,
Because she was never treated wrong,
But little did she know that
Her innocence wouldn't last long.

She had two friends,
Sasha and Trevor,
And a boyfriend that she thought
She'd love forever.

Her boyfriend, Sam,
And Trevor were friends.
So this fearsome foursome
Had fun to no end.

The youngest of the four
But the smartest, she thought.
But what a friend was
Was not what she was taught.

Trevor and Belle
Would hang out all day.
She would try to be like him
In her own boyish way.

You see, the Trevor I speak of
Was King of the Beasts
And everything he wanted
Was laid at his feet.

And, although curious,
Belle stayed true to Sam
And that made Trevor feel
That he was less of a man.

One day, in a summer
5 years ago,
Belle told me something
I needed to know.

She told me what happened
The day that she ran.
The day that will forever
Be burned in the sand.

She told me what happened
When she looked over her shoulder
And saw him walking towards her
As the room grew colder.

She told me her tears
Were no match to his power.
She told me what made this beast
A coward.

She told me she screamed
And hollered and yelled
But her cries were soon muffled
By his lips, dry and pale.

She told me how she felt
The day that she was bruised.
Never in her life
Had she felt so used!

I asked her why she didn't fight
Or get tough like she does on the field.
She just said I'd never know the 
Weakness that I would feel.

I couldn't help but to cry for her
As she blamed herself.
Belle had always wanted to be
The beauty on everyone's shelf.

"But not like that," she said to me,
"Not with one of my friends."
She let a tear roll down her face
As she spoke of her life's end.

Some may ask why'd she tell me;
"What made her come to you?"
I simply look at them and say,
"You don't know Belle like I do."

I know this story in great detail
And if you look real close you'll see
The tear I shed while writing this
Because...Belle is me.

Copyright © Leighanne Rush

Details | Rhyme | |


Belt in hand 
Red of face 
Eyes bulging into space 
The children scatter every place 

His temper is in full bloom 
They know they will pay for it soon 
Tiny hands and tear stained faces 
They silently pray from their hiding places 

"Someone, anyone, please come and protect them" they plead 
"For if not soon they will bleed"
The father rises and calls to each one 
And so it has begun 

Tenatively each steps forward 
Knowing their fate 
With a sadistic gleam in his eye 
The belt finds it's mark 

On soft skin, it leaves it's stark welts
Tears flowing fast
Live rivers in spring 
The terrified kids can do nothing 

On and on he punishes them 
Until they lay like broken toys 
They lie so still 
But he continues to enforce his will 

There is no help
No reprieve 
And worst of all 
This isn't the end 

Tomorrow it all begins again!

Copyright © Bernadette Langer

Details | Blank verse | |

A Brief Childhood

In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor, 
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin, 
So familiar, so resonant and never faint. 
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground, 
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound, 
In retreat from a world he cannot understand 
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.

It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood 
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips, 
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip, 
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks 
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.

Some days he would walk for miles, 
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend, 
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size, 
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend. 
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to 
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached 
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.

Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct, 
Perched perilously with nothing to lose, 
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes, 
Dropping pebbles and stones to the 
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below, 
Imagining if he may fall in their stead, 
What then would be left to know?

The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.

Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong, 
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on. 
People thought him shy, with head bowed low, 
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself, 
Denying the threat of another blow. 
He was not shy, just hiding and biding, 
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.

Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief, 
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve, 
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief, 
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.

Copyright © Tony Bush

Details | I do not know? | |

What's Happening To Our Children?

Look into their hollowed eyes
and tell me you don't care.
There are so many hurting
and it's more than I can bear.

What happens to our young
that makes them crave the pain? 
How could they feel so helpless
that it drives them near insane? 

So many young are cutters.
They have a thirst for tears.
Where are all their parents
while they're out facing their fears? 

How can we save these children? 
It kills me when I know
that underneath they're dying
yet the scars they don't let show.

If I could give them strength
and help them see the way...
I'd trade them my tomorrows
if that gained them one more day.

Copyright © Mary Nagy

Details | Rhyme | |

Dream, And Dream, And Dream

I'll Dream

. And Dream

. . And Dream

I'll dream until my soul awakes, And it's time for youth to part I'll dream until my passion breaks, And this child's abandoned heart I'll dream a lost and former friend, The innocence I've held to tight Before the colors blur, and blend, I'll dream of who I was tonight Before my tears drip down, and dry, I'll dream with colors pure and gold Before the innocence inside me dies, And childhood is hardened cold I'll dream as if absorbed in youth, Illusion moonlight show'ring light Blind to pain and awful truth, I'll dream of who I was tonight.
10/6/2011 "Dreams"

Copyright © Dana Smith

Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek

Details | I do not know? | |

Still In Progress

How can I be selfless without being used? 
How can I be demanding without being so rude? 
How can I open up without closing back down? 
How can I speak if you don't hear a sound? 
How can I trust without being betrayed? 
Yet how could I leave... even after you stayed? 
But how can you love me when I won't let you in? 
So many questions.... where do I begin? 
Memories now blurred, flying through my mind…… 
Now, I’m trying to repress the days of being youthful and blind. 
Every morning I pull on my armor, right from within, 
Preparing for a war, that I intend, to win. 
If my heart is my comrade and my mind is the enemy, 
Then in the midst of this battlefield, 
Life is the remedy…
Trying to stay sane, knowing that although this is temporary, nothing is vain… 
Learning that there is always a purpose and people will try to corrupt us, and bring you great shame… 
Being told that ‘Victory isn't given to he who starts the race the strongest, but he who endures until the end.’ 
Trying to suspend you from learning to depend... on yourself, 
instead making you depend on the wealth, 
Of someone who doesn't even know who he is, 
while you’re grasping the stealth of your true identity, in your right hand, in your heart, the knowledge…
Never been withheld 
Feeling the world come crashing down on you, compacting into a mist of air so cool, 
The breeze passing right through, right into the depths of your pores, to ensue, 
The burning and broken and fragile pieces of the inhabitants of the earth from your birth til' now.. 
Physically becoming everything that you breathe, touch, conceive, munch, perceive, every aroma... 
And every great or insignificant trauma, reflecting off your skin oh so temporarily, the mark so paper thin… 
Physically, THAT is what you are… 
Because we only see the physical, right? 
Yet, behind every movie is there not a director… a cast? 
And behind every painting is there not an artist, combining colors and lines so vast? 
And behind every child is there not a journey, a past? 
That you did not walk, yet you know that it’s there, not by sight, scent, taste, touch, or hearing... But something inside you, that says it makes sense, KNOWS that all of that is there, 

Copyright © Angel C

Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part One

Pigeons flutter in the park
eating refuse from the grass.
Noon comes; the hours pass.
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Silence reigns throughout the park.
A crumpled headline, a forgotten toy,
lifeless, do not hear a far-off bark.
In the park, not a single little boy.
Midnight comes; the hours go --
soon, the sky begins to glow...
morning breaks, and with it, sound.
In the park begins the morning round.
White skeletons of benches -- slats --
in all the wintry parks of Age
fill up in morning. Deserted flats,
each with the aspect of a cage,
become an unused, waiting gauge
that measures dull and wasted years --
floods of loneliness -- rivers of fears...
The weak and battered, pallid crowd
which, daily, parks ingest
speak in muted tones; but loud
is the message all suggest.
The clangor of the beaten Belles,
trampled in the slime of years,
entreats the mind to plug its ears;
yet, if it will, it hears...
memories, perhaps, keep active still
the shriveled and the loosened flaps
that are the mouths of all the Bills --
reduced to gray and ugly gaps...
Down the graveled pathways come
children bent on carefree play.
Belles, though silent, are not dumb,
nor will the Bills forego their say.
But warnings fall on ears too deaf;
around are eyes too blind to see.
And so the tots, too young for Death,
play on and on till time for tea.
Day after day after day
children come and children play.
Pigeons flutter in the park;
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Once more, deep silence claims the park.
Midnight hours come and go.
The sky again assumes a glow.
Wind stirs dead leaves to rustle.
Starts again the aimless bustle
of the battered, weak, and infirm-eyed:
those whom living failed -- who died
but still must play their signal role
of unloved, friendless, unhailed Old;
who gather daily in the park
to envy tots their vital spark --
the hope, the promise in their eyes --
before it fades, before it dies.
But tots at play -- the young, the bold --
must laugh and sing -- cannot be told
that youth's not long and Time is cold.
Time devours -- a ravenous beast --
and men are the courses at his feast.
Some he swallows in their prime,
 On some he waits too long a time:
 these rancid morsels, Time's midnight snack,
explore their memories. They hie them back
 to that old moment, deepest black, 
when they first dared to know -- and first said --
that Time's the master all men dread.
(Please read The Park -- Part Two, which is a continuation of
this poem...due to space limitations)

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Narrative | |

The Sugar Cube House

Love is a season.
And holidays mark the seasons, and years like signs in the road,
reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home.

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down,
it was long past midnight, Christmas eve.
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me.
It was if they were trying to fill our dark house with color.
The block was filled with a hundred lighted windows.
But the blackness of our own, somehow, seemed more appropriate.  

There was no Christmas tree in our house that year.
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had.
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together.
Perry Como, I think it was, for I think I remember he sang "Ava Maria", and Dad got teary eyed.
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week,
trying to help bring us a bit of cheer, least, for awhile,
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly.

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed.
I wasn't sleepy,....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, waiting for Christmas.
As I finally headed for bed, I noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet.
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box.
The shoe box that had kept the sugar cube house, safe, dry, and out of harm's way.

A sugar cube house that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old. 
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls, and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Good Housekeeping magazine that year,
and had surrounded it with little trees, and a oval mirror pond, and items we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store.  She had carefully packed it all away last year.
After her last Christmas.

Late into the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the fireplace mantel....just as Mom would have done.

When the freckled morning moved into day...I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket, and had fallen asleep beside me.

After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch from our old evergreen tree. 

We decorated that bedraggled wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had, but it brought Christmas back to my family.

For Deb's Contest: A Christmas Tale
(Inspired by "The Match Girl" By H.C. Anderson

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |

An Unspeakable Hurt

Sleeping in your crib, you were curled onto your side, A thumb inside your mouth, a blanket cuddled in your arm. Only 18 months old, your baby blue eyes so beautiful, How could anyone bruise you this way, your innocence lost, Who was it who hurt you like this, if only you could talk. You take a bottle from me and nuzzle into my grasp, I want to protect you from any more harm and pain, All I can do right now, is love and care for you with all I have, And give your medications that will make you strong again. So I kiss you good night and place you back in your crib, May your night be filled with good fairies and sweet dreams. Then Social Services will take you away when you are well, I only hope and pray that you will be safe now forever more. **A true story from my Nursing career working in Pediatrics. Written by Lee Ramage September 19, 2011 For Debbie Guzzi’s contest “Children” Won 8th place

Copyright © Lee Ramage

Details | Rhyme | |

Dear Stranger,

I tried my best
To show you part of me.
The side of me
You've never seen.

I'm more than a daughter;
I'm an artist, a writer,
A sister, a friend
And now to you a stranger.

I have a question,
Have you ever realized
That I have my own voice
And I have my own life?

I'm not relinquishing my soul--
I won't sell it to anyone.
If I can't be myself
Then who will I become?

I have a mind of my own,
A heart and gifts.
I have a life of my own
And it's mine to live.

Yes, you gave me life,
But it's not yours to give.
You gave me this life
So I can learn to live.

Tell me, have we met?
Have you ever seen me?
Or did you just see my music,
My tee shirts and jeans?

It's not what I look like,
It's how I look at myself.
I'm embarrassed to show you it.
Only you and no one else.

Don't be disappointed,
Mad or upset.
Be happy I have morals,
A mind and self-respect.

I'm the person I want to be.
I stay true to myself,
Meaning I'm me.
I'm me for no one else.

I'm smart and independent
Because you made me this way.
I'm no longer fearful and afraid,
That's not how I wanted to stay.

Now do you know me?
Or should I continue?
I'm making you realize,
I'm not being rude.

So make your decision.
Please, I just want an answer.
Not to be disrespectful,
But are you my mom or my mother?

Copyright © Skylar Rae Montgomery

Details | Lyric | |

All on Me

All on Me

My childhood is sketchy too many
Yet as those holes fill in
I do not like what I see
So many secrets 
So much pain
My innocence was lost
No wonder I never acted like a child
Still I feel like it was 

All on Me

Be strong, be brave 
Be silent 
Never tell a soul
No one will understand
This love we share
And so it went 

All on Me

Even now as I remember 
Each awful moment 
I wonder what I could have done
To avoid it all together
I wonder what would have happened 
If I had spoke up
However all the what ifs in the world
Will never change the fact that it is 

All on Me

Sometimes I feel like the 
Pain is going to last forever
I am so scared that the glimpse of happiness I once had 
Is all I will ever see
Yet I won’t give up and
I won’t give in
Because if I do then he will win
Then it will be

All on Me 

Instead of 

All on Him

By: Jeanna York

Copyright © Jeanna York

Details | Narrative | |

Deer Crossing

I'm sitting cross legged on the side of the road
while Dad holds my shoulders, in trying to console me,
but tears, uncontrolled, keep tumbling down.
Most stunning, right now, is the fear, I've not known
Never before, .....had I felt so alone.

Reality has settled, like darkness around me
A first-time encounter with death and it's toll
Though, how many times, I have played out the role? 

It was always the same.....
Just a game to be played
The drama?  Just kid's-stuff.....who knew what it meant?

Bang, Bang you're dead!...
Point a finger .... he's dead
A stab, rubber swords, ... at my eight year old heart ?
While slowly, with drama, I played out the part

Death scenes, just play.   I would take my last breath
Then, I was back on my knees, and up in a flash
Ready again, to reverse all the rules......
Death wasn't real........and never so cruel

Tonight,  driving home 
a deer out of nowhere, 
A thump, and a jar, a flash in the light
And in the dash of a moment, ....a crumpling crash
Make-believe shatters, with the lights of our car

Dad reaching his hand, to check I'm alright
Then  opens the door out into the night
Reluctantly I follow his somber silhouette
And met by a moment I'll never forget

The air is bitter cold, and takes all my breath
I want to turn my eyes away, but now it's too late
I've seen lifeless eyes stare back,  in the lights
I'm hypnotized by silence, and the shattering sight
as still and cold, as real as if stones,  
Two lifeless eyes, stare into the night
I feel such a change in the stars and the sky
I felt something die, in a child's heart tonight


Carrie Richards
For Trashed #2 Contest: Sponsor: Broken Wings

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Sonnet | |

Yes, There Really is Monsters

Growing up as a child I never wanted to sleep alone
In fear of the darkness and most of all the unknown
“Mommy is there monsters” I would commonly ask
Her reply was “only on Halloween, the ones we see in masks”

Still not satisfied with her answer and questioning her some more
Asking her the same old thing as I did the night before
Frustrated and exhausted she finally took me by the hand
Looking under my bed, in my closet and even inside my night-stand

“So see my daughter the monsters are only in your head”
“It’s time to get some sleep me dear, now do as I have said”
Respectfully obeying my mother; my little body trembling with fear
Wishing the hour was morning, praying for “him” not to appear
But as the darkness faded and uncomfortable silence came about
I could hear the monster stirring, getting ready to come out
Hoping the noises I heard were only my brothers messing around
Pulling the covers over my head, hoping and praying not to be found

The footsteps getting closer, the monster is almost to the foot of my bed
I now can hear his heavy breathing, oh God how I wished he was dead
Quietly he lifts my covers back and lays down in the bed beside me 
Touching, groping and mauling, trying to cover my eyes so I cannot see

He took away my childhood and with that my trust and self-esteem
A pleading child without a voice, invisible as it would seem
So yes my daughters there are monsters, everywhere we look
Saying as I remember my childhood and everything he took

Copyright © Stacy Stiles

Details | Free verse | |

In Her Fathers Arms

The evening star glowing in a dust choked sky. A girl stands by a window, with a tear in her eye. She stares at the scene, hardly visible through the grime. She whispers in the wind, “Bring my Dad home this time” She opens the window, and climbs outside, Having a flashlight, in her hand, as her guide. Its glow shows the sides of the street. She’s afraid for what the light will meet Bodies piled everywhere she turns, She wants to go home, and never return. What brought this fate upon her town? All her emotions are stripped and torn down. A frightening sound explodes in her ear. Shadows in the road now appear. She run and hides behind a broken wall Praying to god the rest doesn’t fall. Footsteps coming closer to her She can’t tell who because it’s all a blur She backs away further so not to be seen in light, Quieting her heart pounding from fright. Gun shots and screams fill the air, All these sounds, her ears couldn’t bear. A slight whimper slips from her lips, And over the broken stone she trips. The shadows run closer, showering her heart with fear, She wishes they would just disappear. They pass by her; she fills with delight, She just wants to see her dad tonight. She shines the light, to show her place, And to the shine comes a familiar face. She doesn’t understand who’s to blame Because on the tag shows her father’s name. She holds in her tears and refrains from crying. She falls to the ground where her dad was lying. She lifts his arm and buries her face in his chest. She closes her eyes wanting to forget the rest. The shadows emerge yet she doesn’t see, How close the end for her would be. They look down at her, aim, shoot, and fire. Being with her dad is her only desire. The night had ended causing a little girl harm But she took her last breath, in her father’s arms.

Copyright © Candice Vega

Details | Rhyme | |


So much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to shout.
It was like being trapped behind bars without a way
to get out.
My mind going wild with all these questions of why.
The only way to escape was to fall asleep or to cry.
What did I do so bad that made me have to pay?
My friends, my dreams, and my life was swepped away.
I know I can do it! I try and I try.
Nothing seems to get better. I sometimes wish
I would Die.
Starved for attention. I wanna talk to the world.
I just miss being loved. Miss the warmth of a girl.
Snickers and stairs is what my life has become.
I'm treated like I'm a kid, like I'm sick, or I'm dumb.
One day to the next. Life becomes work just to be alive.
I thank god for my blessings. I thank god I survived.
I finally see some improvement. More hope tickles
my brain.
It was worth all the time, all the tears, all the pain.
I awake with a smile and new hope to move on.
I did it! I did it! All those hard times are gone!

Copyright © Travis Flasnick

Details | Lyric | |

Human Being

I walk a mile to see the self in me that I believe to be, 
I knew the road I choose to lay my head to sleep is called my home,
times in need I could barely see that in myself I will set free, 
the act that held me down, something about me I could not see,
I lived a life when I decide that day I said that I don't care, 
so young, so bright, I dim my light, traumatized for me to share,
love me please regardless of what you heard and what you have seen, 
friends say that I'm only human, yes you're right, a human but who am I being?
My life will move in the direction I choose, 
this I know I have always been taught
that I choose to be a winner or lose, 
its entirely up to me its all in my thoughts.

Ken Fepulea'i

Copyright © Ken Fepulea'i

Details | Lyric | |

Normal To Me

This isn't just a poem This isn't just another emotion This is me, these are my thoughts The Imagery is my sight, And The Allegories are my Life I'm lonely, There is just me But there's so many people around but no one can hear my loudest screams Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me I'm torn, I'm Cut Part of my heart stabbed, and then taken from me The Search for my innocence, Is like a moa hunt Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Laughing and Jokes all directed towards me Just to Hurt me Cover all of the Halls "Fag, Emo, Queer" Words I too often know Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Curling her hair putting on her makeup "You're worthless and nothing to Me" Says the so-called all-loving-one As she screams: "Why am I not Pretty" Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me This is not just a poem not just some words my pen cries with each words But this is Just a Glimpse Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Acrostic | |


Unrealistic pain
Sheer terror
Emotional scars that never heal

Copyright © Sierra Arnold

Details | Rhyme | |

Face Of A Beggar Child


I saw your tear-stained face O’ child
It swam before my eyes at night
I clearly saw your life’s struggle,
Your painful hunger pangs and fright.

In my dreams I could clearly see
Your shredded clothes and unkempt hair.
At such a tender age O’ child,
On your face it was all written there.

No one to care for you my child
No one to call your very own.
No mother nor father to call you son, 
No siblings to call you come hither bro’.

I wondered how you came to be
In such a distressed way of life
Each day you have to beg for alms
And face the world’s rage and strife.

Were you the victim of natural disaster,
Like quake or floods epidemic or plague.
Or was it due to human vices
Like war or bloody bath of  death.

Were you  lost in busy hustle of life,
Was it all due to human greed.
Were you the fruit of sin and tossed,
Amidst dirty dustbin where dogs came to feed.

Your tear-stained face swims before my eyes,
And asks me how it came to be.
That  God created all humans alike,
But gave them different destiny.

Oh God, this your humble servant,
Asks you just one small question.
If there are so many tear-stained faces present,
Why Mother Teressa was only one.

Copyright © Kulsum Mehmood

Details | Free verse | |


And we are left here Like maggots—dirty, parentless…devastated Always feeding on the gruel…the cruel Fattening our lives in the moneyless bilk Shocking like a bee sting, yet soft as silk We are the forgotten I am watching the others grow rotten But I am cleansed and raw with glee Because…though blinded with slime…I SEE… I rise to the sound of the agonizing screams Of rapes, murders, of violent fists…weeping minds My definition of true finds… I smile when any possible hope arrives Fate laughs, knowing I constantly scream inside I am amused of it all…I can’t stop laughing As bitter tears began to fall I HATE ALL OF YOU… I WANT TO KILL YOU ALL… But I love that I can take anything From the nothing we have all been labeled The sick, the low…the mentally unstable Watch me roll up in a ball A naughty tease to death’s lull I love your silence… I love your intense fall And we are more alive than any of you We are crazed by your belligerence Aching to be emotionless SHARE YOUR INDIFFERENCE SHARE IT… Give us something to be left with So the others can die As Fate veers its head looking in the mirror Listen to her laughter—do you hear her? She watches and waits To find her maggots have grown wings… Screw your selfish indifference...we fall to fly We are more alive than any of you Though quickly we die

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Rhyme | |

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love?

How can we hurt the very ones that we love?
How can we easily neglect our God above?

It seems like I often heard about many victims
Many times, it’s from a loved one who’s been with them!

The hate and the anger that boils from deep within.
Often “boils over” toward our family and friends.

It’s the love of Christ that we need to find!
His love can totally cleanse our life and mind!

The hearts of many families are bruised and broken.
By the harshness of many of the words spoken.

If we would allow Jesus to rule and reign.
We’d have little reason to murmur or complain.

If we would yield our lives to the master’s will…
The emptiness and brokenness, he shall fulfill!

If we could allow ourselves to sit at Jesus’ feet…
He can make any family totally complete!

If we could just listen to what Christ has to say.
His words of life would brighten our day!

As a family…  Won’t you give HIM a chance?
And allow his love to change your circumstance!

Won’t you allow his spirit to bind you together?
You can experience his peace today and forever!

He can change your family throughout!
This is his will and what God is all about!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton