I'm eating breakfast
Sitting in my chair
Today there are no bruises on my face
And that is rare.
I yearn comfort and affection
Happiness and love
Instead over my mouth
I feel someone's glove.
A gloved hand
Pressing hard against me
I can't help it
The wails come free.
But today it is peaceful
All day long I play
Making stick figures
Out of clay.
But now it is tonight
And he is home
And suddenly I am
Left all alone.
Where did my mummy go?
I hear a slamming door.
He picks me up in his arms
I start to shriek-can't stay calm.
He shouts at me to be quiet
Tells me not to make such a riot.
Then I feel it on my face-SLAP
I feel it on my belly-WHACK
I think one of my ribs is about to break
I don't know how much more I can take.
He throws me on the chair
And slowly strips me bare.
Why is he touching me there?
Why is he pulling my hair?
Why are his hands roaming all over me?
Why wont he let me free?
What is that hard thing pressed against me?
I squirm, but he holds me still with his knee.
Suddenly I'm in agony
I feel like I'm being ripped apart
He's breaking my innocent heart.
He is making funny sounds
And checks to make sure no one is around
After making sure he's safe
He wonders what else he can take.
He's pinching me hard
Laughing like it's a game
I cry even louder
He really is insane.
He bends my fingers back
Farther and farther they go
Snap-Snap-Snap
They couldn't take it anymore.
Blood is running down my face
My lips are swollen and bruised
I'm helpless to defend myself
I feel really confused.
Finally he has had enough
He yanks my clothes back on
And in just a second or so
He has gone.
He returns a minute later
Holding bandages and creams
He roughly cleans me up
In the hope of making my cuts unseen.
I know why he is doing this
It's so my mummy doesn't know
Just what he does to me and
That the Devil lives at his core.
He'll make excuses for my broken bones
Tell people I tripped
Tell them I am clumsy
and they'll never guess I was stripped.
My mummy will never suspect
She'll never guess what's real
Only he and I
Know the real deal.
'It's our little secret'
He always whispers to me
'And if you tell anyone
I'll never let you free.'
TWO YEARS LATER
I'm sitting on my bed
Unable to believe what I've just done
I remember his terrible scream
'you think you've won?
You're a f u c k i n g psycho
We ought to have drowned you at birth'
Is what he yelled
As he forced me to eat dirt.
Now he and mummy are downstairs
And I can hear them yell
Why oh why
Did I have to tell?
I can hear thuds now
I can hear loud slaps
I close my eyes tight
listening to mummy get whacked.
I wish I had never told
I just wanted the pain to end
I wanted to know why
he never treated me like a friend.
Instead he treated me like a rabid dog
Used me for his amusement and fun
I glance around the room
And my eyes land on the gun.
I know how to use it
I've watched him enough times
And if I use it
Maybe everything will be just fine.
The fight is getting louder
I can hear mummy begging him to stop
She shouldn't do that
It usually sends him over the top.
Better to be submissive
To do as he says
Just take the beating quietly
And eventually he's okay.
I walk over to the gun
Staring hard at it
Images flashing through my mind
the kicks, the pinches and many hits.
The pain as he took my virginity
The humiliation as he used me for a game
The anger at what he did to me
The sadness when I realized he's insane.
I pick up the gun
It's small and light
I know deep down I shouldn't do this
But I don't know how else to make it right.
The fight downstairs is escalating
As I place the gun against my head
In just another minute or so
I'll finally be dead.
I'm going up to Heaven
And I plan to ask God why
Why he put me through all this pain
And why he made me cry.
'I'm Sorry,' I quietly whisper to my mum
And before I change my mind I fire that gun.
Now everything is peaceful
There is no more pain
And no longer do I have to
Play his stupid games.
Now I have two important questions to ask God when I find him:
Why did he hurt me so bad at just three years old
And why did I take my own life at five years old?
