Child Abuse Poems

INNOCENT CHILD

Why do harm to an innocent child
Because you want to steal
Their young souls and spirit or take
Advantage because they're
Young and helpless 
Plotting to cause them pain
Just because you have a sickness
Get some help or replace your
Sick desires with prayer and stay away from
Innocent children

The Storm I Welcome

when the eyes that are the sky start to open and cry the thunder, and clouds comfort me like a cozy lullaby
I love the thunder the screams of nature from the pain of nature.
I love the thunder it holds me close although sometimes I shake in fear from the howling 
I'm surprised yet not hurt

purple

stir.....
fallen,
arms
so flapping
begins.....

A pan-cake
morning,
no broken
of glasses
just buttery
and
delights...

fear....
begins
where
and much
before
the ghosts
disappeared

I chalk out
 the fades,
of an 
entrance
 to Hades...

It appears,
where
the left eye
is purple
and swollen......

A glorious day,
of buttery and kisses
a rare sweet moment
that I refuse to descent.....

Water will defuse the flame...
I understand the blame
Continuous shame
No hiding under tables,
fast forward to this tavern

It rains in havens
and on sundays
Angels dripping wet,
in

school of lessons

I looked into
eyes,
darkened
to bruises
and
being thrown
as you
go blind
to concussion.

Being thrown
and strangled
by no
a stranger
but
he never knew
why
so
mischievous
your pockets.

Slapped
across
the face
for
marking
with
the wrong pen...

I made friends
with this devil
and stubborn-ed
his abuse
into the full
of witness abuse
As a child,
I never knew,
but I did
and grew...
once no obtuse.....

I used a charm
of reverse
psychology
of his anger
in the skies,
I mellowed
like ice cream
of cones......

Weekend violence

6 People killed in one weekend
Just like that their lives end
The gangs laugh all the way
They will never stay out of your way

The gangs are fierce and unscrupulous
To kill someone is for them a plus
It is in the gang’s territory
You will only become a memory

The gangs rob, rape, and kill
For the families it’s like a

Information v disinformation'

Dezi Freeman we are told killed two police
Wounded another, disturbing much peace'
Took a woman hostage and three kids
Message from the media, who from the police
Get their bits.' Meanwhile they hold Mali and
Consider her charging.yet she was not a hostage and where
It was said.' Not really clarity enlarging, how were
The kids treated after a fearfull experience'

this is a comma ,

this is a comma ,
this is an apostrophe '
this is an ampersand &
and this is an asterisk *

a poem within a poem

lol. get click baited.
there isn't no poem.
just me.
and you.
and your thoughts.
hmm...
I have an idea!
how about a game?
duck, duck, goose, how about that?
no? ok
just comment your favourite, food.
yeah, good enough game.
ok, get commenting.
I'm off.
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ok bye.
bible
slime block!

thy worldith thy endith ith

thy worldith isith thy canvasith.
thy painterith thy paintith.
thy poetith, makeith thy poetith.
thy worldith thy endith.
chickenith jockeyith.

free-verse of a childhood and sleep problems

There's a ghost,
since my child-hood,
seen them floating
in my bed-room
when I was seven....
They never scared me,
but they just floated
in repetition,
and they had this
look of horrendous
of torturous.....

I don't believe
as I can't ever feel,
when the seeds
never grew to boil,
and weeds take the toll
and neglect is a toil,
You tried hard and never,
gave up on how its severed,
my knife to

a bee's isolation of caring

bruises don't
cover up lies,
just his Alibi,
falsest of his
burning tree
and the brave
of little hands
reaching out
to any angels
listening here,
stop my abuse,
here of dearest.
HOME IS NOT SAFE.

Just Don’t Take My High

Take my name!
It’s twisted connotations left me long ago.
Take my clothes!
They move on my body like tides of the moon
hanging in hollow spots filled by promises forgotten long ago.
Take my money!
The dirtiest thing man has ever invented! Paper bills touched by power and sickness all at once. 
Take my time! 
Filthy hours strung together like

Memories of Catholic school circa 1950's

It was Sister Francine
who treated us so mean.
She’d rap us on our knuckles
with the Father’s belt buckles
toiling to keep our sin-loving souls clean.

father

my dad,
my father.
climb up mountains,
he'd go farther.
hiking hills,
working hard.
paying bills
paying rent.
without that.
we'd be bent.
fixing things
that needed fixing.
breaking things
that need breaking.
my dad,
my father.
you run far,
he'd run farther.
First, we mine, then we craft, LETS MINECRAFT!!

Djibouti

Djibouti, Djibouti
shake that booty.
grab that looty
Somalian pirate.
Djibouti, Djibouti.
another Somalian
washed up on shore
for sure their Somalian
I can tell because they said so.
Djibouti, Djibouti.
This, is a crafting table


                             

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