Child Abuse Poems | Examples of Child Abuse Poetry

Untitled

We were young,
no accident,
brittle are branches
snapping
of fragility.
They say,
there's blood
in a tree's bark...
And the pain comes,
with chopping
of the wood.
We can't be blamed
for loss of innocence
to the grey swirly
of constant clouds,
watching us
since we were
knee hide,
delivering
fore-boding
nightmares.....

What was his problem??

What was his problem?
He never did anything below the belt in this world.

What was his problem?
He never looked at a girl with the wrong sense of commitment.

What was his problem?
Looking at every possible thing in life
and trying to enjoy it,
even when he was suffering deep inside.

What was his problem?
When he was told he should be

Reflection

Reflection. What is it to you?
Reflection. What is it to me?

To me, it is a look back into yesterday
In search of ancestral wisdom.

To me, it is a beneath the surface consideration
Of my present situation in hope of obtaining
Gratification and a measure of growth herein.

To me, it is a hopeful and visual anticipation
Of a better tomorrow.

To

When they failed black kids without homes

Her hair stood out
Reaching for the skies
Wishing on every star at night
Someone would hear her cries
Her need to have a life she doesn't just have to survive 

The chaos of hair confused
Unsure how to keep it or what to do
She is the only one in the room
That had hair that flew 
Just a child without

Dead Babies

Dead Babies

You know where
silence is complicity
insidious war crimes
dance in this vile air
Holocaust encore

Limericks X

Limericks X

This is a more serious limerick:

The Abandoned Child’s Complaint
by Michael R. Burch

I hoped you might have loved me,
but you pushed me out to sea
   like Moses, for some other
   strange Egyptian mother:
Isis, Nefertiti.

Keywords/Tags: limerick, child. childhood, children, child abuse, baby, abandonment, unloved, love, unwanted, mother

Harassment at home

At 7 she is at her father’s mercy
She will be shown no mercy
A life with absolutely no love
She will be like a lonely dove

Sitting in the nest
Doing her best
She will never taste true love
She will never be as free as a dove

Being groped and touched by her dad
Is a life that is so very sad
She

Finger Print

He was deeply worried,
A problem lay within,
Buried in the depths of his heart,
Countless slaves in his possession.  
He wanted to control
All of them, he needed
A unique identity for each.
Suddenly, he struck upon
The idea of a fingerprint.

IN SILENCE

Not sure when it started at 6 staying
out of a brutally violent household
taking to the unforgiving streets.

The streets became my teacher and
family albeit dangerous life lessons
learned from a merciless source.

Spiritual and corporal sorrow from father’s
beatings, his cruel degradation too much to 
bear, as everyone stood by watching me bleed.

At 13, befriending teens from troubled homes,

unheard

i remember being a child
longing for someone to hear my scream
a scream i never screamed
a cry i never cried
feeling like i was the only one with eyes
wishing someone was wise enough to see
what was happening
begging someone to realize
how broken
my lonely heart really was

childhood

was it really that big of a deal
if we were both just kids
our minds snapped shut like lids
brainwashed by whats bad and good
too scared to come out with the truth
nothing ever came smooth
these thoughts
these anxieties
they only get worse
i needed someone to soothe me
im just a little girl
please stop touching me like that
i dont like it
im

Waves That Pull

One step away
from waves that play.
In that fresh light,
he let go that night.

I thought back then,
that was all it had been.
I stayed to see
each wave hit me.

With heart shut tight,
no stars in sight.
My hands let go,
they moved so slow.

Each night I'd fall
inside the call—
the thoughts so loud,
the cries unbowed.

Maybe it's me
who made him flee…
But how

THE TOMB OF MIRRORS

There’s this voice that echoes inside of me,in the pit of my soul
He has long sharp nails, with which he tears down the walls of my heart,peice by piece
Every time my foot steps on the grass, greener than the day before
He pulls me down into the Earth
And I am submerged into the sea 
Filled with

5:31 am

I’m losing a battle I did not choose to fight in,
I have waited nearly fourteen years for freedom. 
There is still no stopping him. 
I lay next to someone I adore and 
He still clogs my thoughts like hair in drainage.
I glance at my love as they sleep,
Peaceful and snoring softly,
And I wish I could

The Gaza’s Stolen Childhood

Every forty-five minutes, thirty children vanish—
not into memory, but into blood and rubble.
The soil of Gaza drinks the tears of mothers,
while those in power sip wine behind closed doors.

This is not war.
It is business—
and crime is its most profitable currency.

Why should we entrust justice to those who profit from injustice?
Why should we plead with architects

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