Showing posts with label child abuse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label child abuse. Show all posts

Sunday, July 13, 2014

There They Stand, Watching Me Watch Them

He jumps up, says she’s abusing him
Grabs his shit, runs through the door
Everyone watches
ALL EYEZ ON THEM

Bona fide great pride, all pretty and perfect outside,
Suburbia defined and redefined
Inside created a great divide
Live in a world of Jekyll and Hyde. Good gone,
Erased in time, lives in a lie cocoon. How can I judge?
Your boy Paco tells stories that make scary seem good
“A very bad person,” said Judy determinedly
Judy deals with rapists and killers

You give Motherhood a bad name
Denial and avoidance is your leisure
You brag about Paco on your Facebook page
Enjoy the fruits of your glory
Raised with hate, he could’ve been a terminator
But turned to art instead
He despises you for not protecting him
Chose to protect his father who maimed him
For that, he’ll give you up for lent
Ugly passion, you’re poison to him

Stood there and watched; shit beat from him literally
Leave Facebook messages, ‘My Paco’
Be assured, accomplishments he made were in spite of you
He should’ve blocked you on multimedia long ago
An object fit to reject
Bitch, let me break it down
Don’t contact him
He won’t contact you

Outing you is the best I can do
I officially out you for your abuse, neglect,
Your surrender to sadism
Witnessed and personally done
I out you, I do
Out you, I do
I out you, I do


It is the best I can do …do …do…

Monday, February 01, 2010

ADVANCING ON SATORI

Been waiting all night 
to hear your poetry, I said 
You’re that beat generation 
spewin that heat and light
Pure energy, that scene 
You were on the bus or off it 
I should’ve been there 
with ya’ all back then 

You were hardly born then, you answered 
probably just born in tha sixties 
No, I said, I could’a been there 
I was born in ‘50 
I shoulda’ been there 
But somehow I never went anywhere 

I admit it tho, 
I wanted to Be On The Road. 
And one day I almost took 
The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test 
But on that day, I was absent from life. 

I should’a been there 
But somehow I never went anywhere 
I cud tell you sometime, ya said 
why you never went anywhere 

You, with your omnipotent self 
How would you know anyway? 
I wondered, Did ya really know 
why I never left home? 
It was a prison 
     built of fear 
         loneliness 
             emptiness and despair 

I never had a life 
A child’s needs unmet 
never given what I longed for 

I couldn’t have what wasn’t there 
Fuck it, I’ll say it, it was 
     abuse, neglect 
     comes in so many forms 
        eats away your self esteem 
Made me weak, 
     slow, scared to go 
Robbed me of my faith, 
     my soul, my glow 

My inner harmony, 
     my sanctity 
     my sanity
I was a prisoner of fear, 
     a prisoner of war. 

I met you, read your sixties words 
your suffuse charm 
emanating from your Hobo soul 

I wanted to possess your poetry 
    your style 
         the 60’s and the 70’s 
         poetry of hope 
         An air of romance 
         a taste of escape 

A breath of fresh air 
     from a smog-filled street 
     the smoke and stink 
     rising slowly like gases 
     from the filthy pavement 
I was a prisoner of war 

Your words bring back the time ... 
Words like book, crib, jibe 
a stone’s throw away 
the sun low-fives the trees 

God damn! Your words excite me 
    Sex talk, like poontang, tallywhacker. 
    Wow man, I never heard it, 
But it’s cool, I understand it. 

Your blatantly primitive lust 
your licentious eyes
devouring me 

Staring at my sagging breasts 
cruising over my body 
    smoothly, 
as though it were highway 59 
Resting on my nipples 
    tingling 
like a jellied door buzzer 
my fallen butt and 
orange peel thighs 

Only served to fuel your lust 
my allure waved strong 
snagged by your naked desire, 
    your lust 

as you gorged on my scent 
teasing my libido 
A test in trust 

Your tongue flicked against your upper lip 
What’re ya’ havin’ babe, ya’ said 
No thanks, refused the drink 
Been waitin all night to hear your poem 

a moment abundant with heat 
stifling humidity 
complaints about intensity 
panties clinging damply 

Unbearable, prolonged 
I want to hear the poem 
my date languishing in time Y
our glass passed to my hand 
Contact, your eyes implored 
    lust and soul 

Give me sixties or give me death 
symbols of peace, 
Baby you’ve got heart, 
Go with the flow 
no looking back 
no sorrows or regrets 
resolute to recreate 
a life renewed
reincarnate 
more chances to fulfill the goal 
Don’t hesitate 
Go on! Get on the road 
Don’t worry if the bus is full 

Symmetry of faith 
advancing on satori 
will get you there 
    explore, 
search for more 
no more prisoners of war 

First published in 1995 in Grist on Line one of the first online poetry mags that came into being. At that time several people accused me of being a "post modernist" and I had no idea what that was so or more importantly who it included. I immediately began reading post modernists to understand what I was being accused of.  I couldn't format this right for blogger but on the linked version above, the formatting is correct. This poem is a throwback to the sixties generation

Monday, May 25, 2009

The Family Illness

Kendra was depressed about her life. Not that it had been great before; it had always been a struggle. But now, the son-of-a-bitch was getting off scott-free as far as she was concerned. And after all the shit he’d pulled.
She looked over to where her son was on the bed and patted his hair falling in moist ringlets over his creamy caramel color face. He turned in his sleep reaching for her. Overcome with melancholy feelings, she lay down beside Kaora, kicking off her slippers. Kaora snuggled closer to her bosom, his face buried in her scent mixed with lavender. How he loved her scent. Still mostly asleep, he lifted her shirt. Kendra moved closer to oblige. This was her one pleasure. The sucking began. The soft wet feel of his mouth pulling and elongating her nipple. There was hardly any letdown but a sensation of bliss passed over her and she began to relax. Her uterus contracted lightly and her son’s hands caressed her pechos.
My poor baby she mused looking down and his moist face, his mouth working vigorously. He tugged slightly, moving his head further away pulling at her nipple, while his hand touched her other breast. He moved his jaw languorously. That bastard, she said again for the upteenth time, abandoning us for that little chippy with big boobs, her fake ass boobs.
She settled back into the pillows, the sensation moving from her breasts to her uterus. She felt her uterus contracting with the gentle tweaking of her nipple occurring simultaneously and in rhythm with the movement of his jaw. His eyes were closed and she felt very protective and loving. No one would take this from her. It was the only pleasure she had that no one could interfere with. God help them if they tried. She’d attack with her entire being.
Kendra’s anger dissipated and her thoughts began to slow down. How dare that bastard Lyle question her motives and tell her anything when he had abandoned them. How dare he say anything about her choices, as if he had any right to say anything about anything – that sick son of a bitch, she’d spit on his grave if she had a chance.
Kendra’s thoughts stopped racing and she reviewed the recent calendar of events while her son continued nursing. Kaora’s eyes remained closed and he brought his head backwards without opening his eyes, her nipple stretching, the sensation a delightful security.
Yes, she stuck by her choices, and she’d written Lyle an email telling him so, like the ass-hole needed it explained. You’d have thought he would’ve learned something during the thirteen years they’d shared. He’d always been difficult though. He’d pretend to know and then play stupid. Kendra had written succinctly, savoring her knowledge of every word on how she’d educate him, his lawyer and everyone else too.
Parenting practices include not only prolonged nursing, but also the family bed, nudity, non-vaccination, alternative health care treatment, and even home schooling, which I am already doing enough of all this (except the home schooling) while you can’t do anything right! You are the sick one and I want to see your psychiatric records now.
Kendra then impulsively threw in the last sentence.
Sexual issues can definitely complicate a situation and send off alarms in a caseworker's mind.

Later she regretted giving him this sentence but she followed up by copying and sending him an entire series of articles in support of her case on prolonged nursing, natural healing and everything else she stood for. It was enough articles to spin anyone’s head so let him try and get in her way. Just let him try…
Kaora’s sucking subsided and she put on her slippers and returned to her computer. She was so angry at his attempts to divide and intrude on their lives this way. She was still angry at the court fiasco too. From two thousand a month to nine hundred, she’d lost a lot. And so what that he’s only a salaried man. It wasn’t her fault he left with that stupid bitch cunt who he had told her he had no interest in. That bitch with her implants that he’d laughed about.
She remembered when she had jealously smacked him in the back of the head, accusingly said, “Husband, you’re paying too much attention to Sandra.”
He’d laughed and pulled her into the hallway kissing her, “you’re jealous!” Lyle said surprised. Lyle slipped his hand under her sweater and Kendra angrily pushed him away.
“That’s not yours,” she said, “they’re his.”
“He’s five and a half, for Christ’s sake! When are we ever going to have some sex?”
“We do have sex,” Kendra remembered saying, “You like to eat my pussy, don’t you?”
“Of course I love your pussy,” he said, “I just would like to have sex with my wife without my five and a half year old child waking up and you nursing him back to sleep. It’s hard to maintain excitement in that situation. It makes me uptight. I’m not comfortable with sex in the bed and my five and a half year old son waking up while we we’re in the middle of it.
The Native Americans do it and a lot of cultures do it,” she defended.
“I am not a lot of cultures,” Lyle said, “I’d like the option of going in the other room and we can’t do that because your mother lives with us.”
“You’re too uptight. He’s our son. It’s natural.”
“I’m sorry, it bothers me to have sex with him here. It inhibits me. I think that’s natural too. I don’t feel free with him waking up like that.”
“Get used to it Lyle, it’s the family bed. I made my choice.”
“Don’t I have any choices?” he asked.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Kendra told him. “Imagine we’re Native Americans sleeping together in the teepee. You always like to say you’ve got Indian blood.”
Now, two and half years later, that big titty gal he’d left her for had suddenly reappeared out of nowhere asking for Lyle’s phone number. This after the dumb skinny-ass addict bitch had reported him to administration after the piece of shit and he'd had a bad break up and Lyle hadn’t returned to her. Told admin that he’d harassed her. Why would I give you his number or be your friend, when you tried to take my bread and butter’s job? What the fuck kind of crazy women does Lyle attract anyway, always a bunch of stupid ass bitches. Boy was he lucky with me Kendra mused.
Kendra returned to her computer desktop, Lyle’s email insult still open,
Kendra I think it is time that you stop sleeping with Kaora, stop showering with him and stop letting him nurse your breasts. He will be eight years old in April and such behavior is not good for his development. Let him sleep in his own room in his own bed by himself and stop nursing him. Let him shower and clean himself because he is not a baby any more.

That fucking sick bastard with his stupid bitches and hoes, adding insult to injury. Kendra had written back,
It is unclear exactly what your mother did to you that caused you to be emotionally disturbed. I have serious concerns about your abusing children in your past. Your admissions caused me to break up with you and later I let you convince me it was silly to break up with you about something that had happened so long ago when you were a child. Unlike you, I have NEVER abused a child, sexually or physically. You show me your psychiatric records or I will visit my lawyer and tell him about your history. Let this insult fest go, or you will end in dire straits. And then who will take care of Kaora. Let this insult fest go –thank god – you are my soon to be ex-husband. Let it go. You are one seriously -sick in the head man! You are the devil incarnate with a dirty mind!

Kendra had followed this up by sending him several articles supporting the family bed extended breastfeeding and nudity. She knew how to prove her point and it would stand in any court of law. She added her reminder again to her email, let this hate fest go.
How dare him, immoral piece of shit that he was, question her motives. Lyle never appreciated how she had care taken all of them, had always done all the paperwork plus supported him emotionally. She was the one who had care taken all of them. Kendra had always told him what to say and do, since she always knew the right thing to say and do. And this was her thanks, that he'd left her for a stupid skinny ass bitch with big fake-assed tits, and she, Kendra, the mother of his only son, got only a measly nine hundred dollars a month from his thirty six hundred dollar paycheck. She should get it all! How dare him criticize anything she chose to do; she’d make him pay in the end. She’d make him pay out the kazoo, with his fucking ever-present erection and his porno. Kendra had it with him anyway. She read his email asking if he could stop by Kaora’s birthday party she was holding in the park. “Sure,” she wrote, “sign over your two thousand dollar IRA to me and you can.”
Sick bastard! Later compulsively she returned to the computer again seeking any response from him. There was none. She wrote more anyway, unable to control herself. I want your psychiatric records. You are seriously sick in your mind. At least she had Kaora and she and Kaora were not alone; they had each other. Bastard Lyle would not destroy or invade the closeness between her and her son, try though he would
Then she went to youtube and found the video she was looking for, Money, that’s what I want, the English version from way back by a woman and she sent that along too with another note, “Honey, is this what’s bothering you?” She laughed aloud feeling vindicated and pressed the send button. Then she decided to resend it to his current lover too. Kendra laughed again. She walked away but was drawn back a third time to write one more note,
It seems to me that you are begging the universe for a phenomenal, industrial strength kick in the behind. You just don't learn. How about you stop right here, and I'll do the same! Learn from me, because it will go very well for you if you do.
Kendra added her name in cursive font and pressed send. She wondered if he’d ever learn that she was the smart one, she was the one in control and she always would be!


This story is taken from a variety of internet posts and includes other sources regarding various types abuse. Infantilizing children has many bad effects including teaching them that they don't need to learn to deal with frustration. It also encourages over dependency and stunts emotional growth. An eight year old child shouldn't be sucking a bottle or wearing a diaper either. An 8 year old should be learning how to act appropriately in society, and should be getting ready for adulthood ... which does NOT include sucking on your mother's breast whenever you need comfort.
Parents may want to assuage a child's fears about a parent who has left the marital home, and although offering the breast is a temporary feel good solution, talking would work better. For example, a mother could say, I know you're sad or worried that Daddy isn't here now, but you see him weekends and I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere.
There is a case going on right now where a judge ordered a woman to stop breast feeding her 8 year old boy, the same age as this boy in this story. Eight years old is the beginning of puberty, when stronger sexual feelings emerge so you can see how many more problems this open behavior will create ...
Where do you draw the line if you follow the protocol that you stop when the child wants to stop? Then when the child goes away to college and returns on holiday, do you offer the breast for old times sake or give it to them if they want it? If you do you may be faced with the situation below.


For a little
levity check out what this can lead to ...

or this

The point is - sexual abuse runs in families. Mom was abused by uncle Jim and then her son is abused by her dad is the way of it. Speaking out is the only way to end the abuse. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

A Little Thirst is all ... To Quench or A Completely Distasteful Yet Very Likely Story Explaining How Disease Travels...

The day had been a long one beginning with church in the morning and including relatives rarely seen. His sister Sara was getting married this Saturday coming and today was Christmas. His father’s sister, Audrey and her husband Delmar, had arrived yesterday from Albany with his niece, Farah, and nephew, Freeman, in hand.
The dinner feast had been served early and everyone was relaxing full with good foods, baked honeyed ham and stuffed Cornish hens. Sara and her fiancé, Delroy, stretched out on the sectional leather recliners of the couch watching some early night TV while the other adults shared laughs and drinks. Carlton sat in a corner of the kitchen watching the scene unfold like the dusk outside. Marisa sidled up to his mom and they whispered and giggled. His mom jiggled her boobs in her low cut dress. Carlton watched his Dad, Cornelius, standing near the RCA Victrola humming to the music he played, spinning the stem of his glass of red wine. Freeman, who was sixteen, stood next to Cornelius pressing closer, and talking into his ear. Cornelius put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and the two laughed.
Marisa passed her wine to Freeman, saying, “Want some baby? Yo’ mama don’t let you experiment too often and since I’m passin’ you the glass, you may as well cut loose with family first.”
Freeman accepted the wine shyly pressing his lips to the wine cup like an unknown lover. Carlton's mom passed by him and ran her fingertips along his spine coquettishly. She passed his chair and reached above his head into the cabinet for a clean glass passing it to Audrey. A chill passed through Carlton and he shivered involuntarily after her hand had left his skin.
“How bout you baby,” his mamma Carleen cooed to him, her fingertips eliciting a new shiver, you want a lil’ too, his mom said brazenly offering Carlton her half full glass.
“No, mom, I’m cool, ” Carlton said, thinking that twelve years old was still too young for drinking. He wondered how high his mom was.
Delmar entered the room, pulling his tie off with one hand and scratching his ear. As he passed by Audrey he playfully spanked her butt and as he passed by Carlene his arm passed fleetingly across her upper back to her waist. Carlton wondered if she shivered too the way he did when she touched him. Was that the way all touch was?
Carlton knew that his sister had told Audrey and Delmar that they could use her bedroom tonight and she’d also made it clear, that she’d be bunking in his along with Freeman. The little girl, Farah, would sleep on the couch and his parents would stay in their own room.
Carlton got tired of the show and went upstairs to be alone for a while. He turned up some Led Zep on his cd player using his headphones. Relaxed and nicely worn out, he let his mind wander and pulled one of his mags from under the bed. When he awoke it was dark in the room and he heard the sound of steady breathing. His sister was on the lower bunk bed with her leg hanging loosely over the edge. His cousin, Freeman, was on the upper bunk and Carlton listened as Freeman turned in his sleep, and a soft snore escaped his lips.
Carlton felt his penis engorged and got up to go take a piss. He put on a pair of pajama bottoms and then decided to go downstairs to get a glass of water. He passed by his niece who appeared calmly sleeping. The sectional recliners were still out and she lay there by herself. There was a soft night light from the kitchen. Carlton went to the sink and put his hand to feel the water. He stood a few seconds waiting for the water to run more coolly. When he felt satisfied, he drew a glass from the sideboard and filled it with cold water.
He sat on the couch next to his five year old niece swallowing huge gulps of water. Carlton went and refilled the glass and returned again. He again gulped. The ham had been very salty. He put the glass on the table and stretched out thinking the moonlight coming through the blinds was the perfect amount of light. He looked over at his curly headed niece who had turned towards him with eyes wide open. He looked into her eyes and felt that familiar thrill of a shiver pass over his body. The blanket had fallen from her and it twisted about her feet. The room was warm. He reached over intending to cover her and put his arm at her waist. Farah’s nightgown had slid up to her waist and she had no underwear on. He tugged at the hem, intending to pull down the skirt of her gown.
Instead Carlton impulsively reached around to her front caressing her mons pubis. Neither broke eye contact. With no intention of proceeding further, suddenly his fingers were between her labia. It was very moist and inviting. Carlton moved his index and middle finger very lightly, the moistness absorbing him, her eyes compelling him. He felt his finger blend into the moistness of the labia, his finger inhaled by a soft pliant wet crevice. The pleasure he felt reflected in the moonlight cast across her face and her gaze remained steady, her lips slightly parted like his mother’s when she ran her hands across his back. He pushed his third and longer finger down a bit more while his index played with her man in the boat. Farah sighed contentedly, her eyes fixed on his.
Carlton turned away feeling the hot rise of a blush full of shame, he hurriedly sat up. Earlier he’d refused a drink and now he’d touched his five-year old cousin. He looked at her once more in the eyes and she stared back supplicantly with doe eyes. He turned away and ran back up the steps to his own room and lay on the guest bed where he’d been earlier, before he had woken up to hear his sister and cousin’s snores and needed to piss and drink water. Isn’t that all that happened after all?


The point is - sexual abuse runs in families. Mom was abused by uncle Jim and then her son is abused by her dad is the way of it. Speaking out is the only way to end the abuse. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Monday, March 02, 2009

Dead Long Ago

All those people? Dead long ago. Most of `em anyway
They ate up all the lead, used so many drugs
Their bodies shot to shit, they’re all dead
Some’s left, see em once in a while
walking down the street,
Standing in the rain, trapped
Stuck on their methadone, loving it, not moving on

Heroin was good in the 60’s, plentiful and cheap,
My friends and acquaintances died from o.d.’s
Me? I never used it. Uhh ... O.K., I tried it once,
You know what they say about birds flock together
I flocked, beats me what for, but I did,
Truth is that flock was better n’ home
What? You want to know if I had a good home?

I thought that flock was better n’ home,
14 years old hanging with the addicts.
So sorry, at 14 it was alchies. Alcoholics.
Yeah, tried that too, didn’t like it none
Having babies for a black man, angry alcoholic
He became a junkie. I saw him not long ago

Asked him when I saw him,
“Why were you so mean?”
“Don’t know,” he said to me,
“Couldn’t hep myself, I guess.”
He tells me, “I’m HIV now, got a hernia so bad
my balls swoll up down to the floor.”
He was a god-damned strong man at 20.
I saw him press 250 pounds. Handsome too
6 feet tall, 180 pounds, muscular, well built
He had lots of girls. Gave me gonorrhea 30 years ago.
30 years ago I told him about our baby
“Shoe box size,” he said when
I held my hands up to describe
“Coffee color with lots of cream,”
I said about the baby’s skin.
Dead 30 years ago.

In the middle of the night they came, 2 a.m. or so,
Said “Your baby’s gone, you can see him now you want.”
Gone, born 2 days and a half ago,
“You can see him now you want,”
the doctor’s hand resting on my shoulder

I birthed him glimpsing his coffee
colored skin with lots of cream,
They took him away,
never `lowed again another see
“His lungs were half formed,” they said,
“You can see him now you want.”

Begging for 2 days and a half, not allowed.
“You can see him now you want.”
“What for?” I said, “I wanted him alive.”
“Too bad. So sorry. You can see him now you want.
At least let us do an autopsy.
Save some other woman pain like you.”

So Sorry. Trapped in a time warp.
Childhood? What Childhood? Childhood what?
So sorry. Never, ever heard the word.
Can’t imagine what it means.


* Note: This poem was written over 15 years ago and it still stands powerful. It has been published several times.