Long Abuser Poems
Long Abuser Poems. Below are the most popular long Abuser by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abuser poems by poem length and keyword.
Don is the ultimate user
His deals seal you as a loser
When Trump holds the cards
The lives now in shards
Bear witness he’s an abuser
The Don has a trick to reveal
He’ll dick you and cancel your deal
Like hands on your neck
Trump voids your paycheck
And feels ecstasy when you squeal
If acts are life’s indicator
Don’s a classic woman hater
Though cratered with flab
Trump will pussies grab
As rapist and a dictator
What will show how Don’s dick-brain thinks?
Trump’s thrusts come with lies and high jinks!
Amid this disgust
Some high and non-plussed
Have heads up his rump with what stinks!
In shadowed halls where once the light burned free,
Truth stands accused, her mouth sewn shut with thread
Of fragile labels, spun from fear and dread
A single word can fell the ancient tree.
Speak of immortality’s slow decay,
Of virtues lost to fleeting, twisted fires,
Of hands that reach where sacred lines expire
And “homophobic” brands the truth a crime.
Gay banners wave, feminism’s blade gleams bright,
Abnormal vices dressed in rainbow light;
To question is to hate, to doubt is sin,
And silence falls where honest words begin.
Turn now to crescent moons and minarets tall,
Where veiled commands demand the faithful crawl
Speak of the chains, the blood, the silenced call,
And “intolerant” becomes the final wall.
No room to mourn the daughters lost in sand,
No space to name the sword that rules the land;
One whisper of dissent, one plea for light,
And tolerance itself demands your night.
Correct a woman gentle word, firm hand
And “narcissist” or “abuser” scars the man.
Her tears become the verdict, swift and grand;
His care is cast as cruelty in the sand.
No father’s voice may guide, no brother’s shield,
No husband’s truth allowed to be revealed
For in this age the scales are bent and blind,
And every gentle word is redefined.
The cherished pillars crack, the altars fall:
Faith, family, honour, duty once the all
Now mocked as relics, dusty, quaint, and small,
While chaos wears the crown within the hall.
Society’s soul erodes like cliffs by sea,
Each wave a label, each tide a decree;
What fathers taught, what mothers held in prayer,
Is swept away on currents of despair.
O Truth, once queen upon the marble throne,
Now beggar at the gate, your voice a moan.
The gag grows tighter, woven thread by thread,
Until the final word is left unsaid.
Yet in the quiet heart where courage hides,
A spark still burns unlabelled, undefiled.
One day the gag will tear, the tongue will rise,
And silenced truth reclaims her ancient skies.
Her family was singing and laughing, blue grass music fanatics.
They were knee-slappers, land loving, happy-to-be semantics.
She ran off in the middle of the night with a sweet talking man.
He tried to take her light, delighted in putting her down into a can.
She was in a dark place, not allowed to have a thought or a song.
Everything she did was done to build him up, but it was all wrong.
He pushed and he prodded, he made fun and he put her down all the time.
Her songs were less frequent, she forgot how to smile or rhyme.
He was a mean man, a sadist, a pouter, a pig. He kept her hidden away.
She kept praying God would save her. She prayed to be rescued every day.
He told her she was stupid, dumb, never did anything correctly,
was always wrong.
She thought about her family, and their love for playing, laughing, and their song.
She wished they would find her, but he had hidden her quite well I am afraid.
She spent the rest of her life, dreaming of what she had missed,
being his slave and maid.
She tried to please him every single day, earning his displeasure, and pouts he never tried to hide.
Wolfman had her so well brainwashed,
she never realized she could have gotten away if she had tried.
Oh! Be ware whenever you answer your cell,
or land line phone. I received a call from the
Everett's Marriott Hotel. And did not answer
my cell phone. My personal friend, told me.
It is a place for prostitution. And I thought it
could also be a place for drug trafficking?
She told me it was how her problems,
and her daughters first started.
The hackers deleted all of her
photographs of her daughter's
youngest child. She had stored
in her cell phone.
The hackers hacked into her computer,
and had access to her files. They
tried to frame her daughter for
crimes she did not commit.
They tried to mess around with
her back ground check,
claiming she had a criminal
background.
They stole her car in the City of Arlington,
and messed around with it.
Taking all of her valuables out her
motor vehicle. Spreading lies
about both her and her daughter.
They tried to destroy the lives
of her daughter and her children
by spreading vicious and malicious lies.
Her grand daughters were both
sexually abused!
Her daughter arranged to have a date
with a man she found on one of those
internet dating sites. A child abuser,
and a wife beater advertised himself there.
You can apparently lie about your background
on those internet dating sites. They
probably can't check into the backgrounds
of people who post themselves on line
for dating services.
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
January 29, 2020
“Did it hurt,” I asked
Lily looked at me her expression unmasked
“Did what hurt?”
“Always having to be on the alert?”
Before she could respond, I continued, “Watching and waiting for the next strike.”
She sighed before saying, “we’re alike.”
“How would you know?”
She breathed out a laugh. “It’s not like you need outward injuries to show.”
I blinked, “what do you mean?”
“Sometimes, the worse cuts are those that cannot be seen.”
She cupped my face with her hand
I could feel my tears fighting to withstand
“You don’t have to be the one abused to feel the effects of an abuser.”
“I know how you may want to keep quiet. You don’t want to seem like an accuser.”
My face trembled in her hand
“And I’m not saying you have to take a stand.”
“But, trauma is trauma, my little flower.”
“And no matter what you do, you should not cower”
A tear slipped from my moist eye
She then cupped my face with both hands before whispering, “it’s important to cry”
I whispered back, “but what if I don’t want to cry.”
“With each tear, you are kissing your hurt goodbye”
“That is why it is so important to cry.”
“I don’t want to admit it hurts,” I sighed
“For I wasn’t the one who was striked.”
“Every time you witnessed, you were stripped.”
“What do you mean,” I asked
“You now have a cut within your soul that cannot be masked.”
“No matter how long the clock ticks, you will always have those cuts within your soul.”
“So, don’t act like you should not hurt because you are no longer whole.”
She squeezed my cheeks with her hands, “Nothing is your fault, that you must not forget”
“You are a victim and have every right to be upset.”
“But I-”
“No buts. You will not feel guilty if you must cry.”
I blinked, for I could not speak
Lily's color began to fade, “I must go now, but remember you are not weak”
“Never forget what I’ve told you,” she said as she lowered her hands from my face
She then tugged me into the most comforting embrace
“Okay,” I breathed
She gave me a soft smile before disappearing, “Okay indeed.”
[Character is Lily Bloom from the book It Ends With Us]
In dim-lit rooms where shadows choke the air,
She rains down fists like thunderbolts unchained,
Her tongue a whip that strips his flesh to bare
The walls absorb her screams; the world remains untrained.
He stands, a battered oak in gale-force scorn,
Each bruise a secret map beneath his skin,
Her venom seeps like poison through the thorn,
While silence carves its canyon deep within.
Yet when he turns, seeks refuge from the flood,
The spineless swarm descends like hungry crows,
“Coward!” they caw, their mockery a bloodied rod,
Defending her while dragging him below.
These brothers, armored in their twisted chivalry,
Forge iron shackles from their shallow pride
They guard the viper’s strike with loyalty,
While he, erased, bleeds out where none abide.
The silent abuse gnaws marrow from the bone:
Not only her wrath, but men who claim the throne
Of enablers, crowning unaccountable queens,
As broken kings are left in shattered scenes.
12/28/18
I just received a gift from my {step}mother.
Only three days late this year.
It's a Santa Claus soap dispenser... with a twirl and a twist.
I used to own it, well over twenty years ago.
It has yellow soap still clogging the spigot...
*****, that you've treated old Saint Nick like a {step},
How true to your form and fitting that is.
{Step} Santa was more of a message than a gift.
After all, I've been a half-assed {step}son at best.
But {step}mother, you must admit, I was always your third-class citizen.
From the brackish affection, impish rags you stapled to my rear,
Minor infractions, met with a strap called; I'll reduce you to tears.
You were the metal-toothed snapper in the pond of my youth.
Mother, if you deny this, you're just another abuser of truth!
For the most part, I've freeze-dried your slipperiness,
I think {step} is glacier cold, but a most accurate prefix.
In an empty room sits a figure
A shadow of one’s self
A young boy beaten and ashamed
Over shadowed by the narcissist
His cruel and unrelenting anger boils over
The chosen target in his sights
The boy sat alone in a blank room
Stripped of its contents in the name of love
The heavy footsteps coming up the stairs
Counting the steps, the creak of number 8
The lock unbolted, the door swings open
And there he stands, my father
A lunge forward, he grabs my wrist
The tight grip of his hand, cold and moist
Forcefully dragging me down the stairs, the boys legs hitting every step
Anticipation heightened, a shoe, a belt, a cane, a hand
The terrified boy crumbles
Tears fall, legs tremble
Fury evident on his face
Forced to my feet
Pulled down my shorts, bare skin on show
Fear on show as this man draws his hand back
The instant sting
A burning hot hand print
As this man towers over my small stature
He draws back his arm
BANG! Again and again
The boys body collapses
The boy whales in pain
Sensations reverberating on my skin
The burning begins to prickle
Tingling and sharp
He’s not satisfied with his work
The peripheral sees a boot heading my way
A connection in my ribs
Instantly gasping for every breath
A boy so weak used to give his abuser strength
His actions keep me quiet, keep me small and afraid
A choice to humiliate a defenceless boy
Left feeling disorientated, no anger in his voice, no emotion
He sees my pain, my tears
His hand reaches for mine
Just to drag me back to the quiet room where I’m his captive
4 walls, a bottle of water and a bucket, click goes the door
Heavy footsteps disappear from earshot
Silence feels heavy, feels safe and temporary
Left with my own thoughts
Naked and beaten
Body turning from red to purple
Physical pain fades to a dull pain
Freedom to shed tears, to share my pain with my own thoughts
Permission to breathe in the silence
The next time could be worse
No excuses or reasons required
A child knows no different
I’m to blame for being born
9-24-15
Drop off written document box—
Cliff…
Cavernous crevice—
The gap…
|Space| between the lines—
Infinitude…
Continue to-do—
Proposed madness…
Accusation—
Abuser…
Formatted contextual suicide—
Any last words?
Nuff said;
Feller-poor—
Naughty-nuff-ever-
Poor-feller-for…;
Naughty-Nuff-
Ever-poor—
Clever-poor-feller-forever-more—
Gallery-glamorous-galore-
Poor nuff-not-ever-more—
Furthermore related by propositional disclaim—
Plea bargaining forever-more…
Embodied image interrogated—
Seemingly poor-
Naughty-Nuff wants more-for-less-more-for
Nuff-said-feller-poor—
Ever-if-fortune-wins-glamorous-galore—
Poor-feller-remains-for-ever-more…
Wonder why?
Why wonder-for?
For why-for-wonder-more?
More-or-less-for-ever-wonder—
What wonder-for?
For why wonder-for—
Why am I writing—why-wonder-more?
More for why wonder-what-for—
A LEDGER. . .
No less or no more—
He is sorry after giving her that beat down.
He has never been this sorry.
His wailing sobs can be heard all over the hospital.
Begging her to forgive him. She decides to not press charges.
He is like a contrite little boy.
She wants him to return to that adoring, hand-holding,
loveable, overly solicitous almost too-good-to-be-true man
she remembers from not so long ago.
She is not ready to get rid of him just because he gave her a
beat down once or twice or three times. She cannot leave him.
She loves him. And he loves her. They are perfect together.
The nurses shake their heads sadly as they leave the hospital.
Her with a black eye, and a wired jaw, giving him loving eyes.
Him promising everyone along the way it will be the last time.
Until the next time.