to be helpless,someday they will not be

August stormAugust storm Posts: 186
edited November 2003 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
she is scared hes comming closer,
she can feel his evil ways,
she can see he is strange,
the way he looks at her,the way he talks to her,
the way he touches her!
fear overcomes her,
she wants to tell her mom,
but shes drunk again,
he is going to ruin the little angels innocence with his hunger needing fed,
how to stop him move out of bed?
thats not good enough,
all these scary thoughts are not just in her head,
as he puts his hands down her pants once again,
she pulls away, calls for her mom,who can barely stand,
mommy can we go for a walk its immportant,i have to tell you something -something bad!
please take me to the resturaunt where daddys been.........
its not far we can walk, so i can tell you about the scary man............your boyfriend.........
oh daddy help me im scared i am!
daddy he touched me it scares me im afraid help me dad,
daddys her hero, moms boyfriend , so lucky hes not dead,
battered and bruised , beaten, over and over and over again,
do not fuck with his daughter, thats his life, his reason for being he said.........................................
but for that little girl only a single moment of glory she had.......
when her dear daddy kicked his ass,the pig, the one who ruined the innocence she once had,
mommys a mess she layed in bed drunk while her boyfriend roams with his hands all over her daughter crying with tears of being so sad,
she is as evil a match made in hell,
the little girl will grow up not having the mind she could of had!
a lesson to those who ruin the thoughts of women to be,
to know one once, is to always know one , they will get you one day you will see!

dedicated to all the child molesting fucks in the world those little girls grow up and are comming to get you!!!!!!!
whats good for the goose is good for the gander
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • setaside2setaside2 Posts: 1,084


    that was a spear to the chest, a blender to the hand, a garbage disposal to the eyes... I hurt so badly after reading it spitting out at me at everyone the pain the bitterness the sadness the hatred the rage the vitriol the causticity the acidity of it all.

    My daughter is the light of my eyes and the life in my step.... I don't know what I'd do if any harm ever came to her... I just don't know.

    I don't know what else to say other than I intend to do right by her. I can't apologize to you or for you or with you or by you but I can take good care of my little girl and you can take some solace in that...

    I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
  • that deffinatly helps me i need to hear things like that becuase people like the "man" in this sad poem are real like this peom, and our children need our help and protection, keep your little girl close far from the evil, so she never has to know what this poem is about! becuase it follows people there whole life like a bad record only they did nothing wrong. innocence in the young is so immportant to keep as long as it can be kept, thank you for you thoughts, i hope to help make people aware of how much emmotion is involved with this topic.
    whats good for the goose is good for the gander
  • setaside2setaside2 Posts: 1,084
    My little girl is walking into high school a registered black belt in Shotokan karate if I have my way.

    She's going to be taught to be open minded, sure, but independent and sure, if I can help it.

    She's a lovely thing full of spite, spunk, and starlight.

    Spread the word and I'll help you.

    I was a rape victim advocate off and on in college (for the short time I was able to attend), I have done council for people who have had issues like this. It needs to be seen and woken up to. People will change their minds and wake up someday, I swear.

    I just don't know if we'll live to see that day.
    I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
  • i know what you meen by the shotokan my boys are in shotokan karate right now what a coincidence lol
    my father has tought me to box and i took self defense classes when i got a little older and when i became an adult i took up kick boxing (but recently had to stop taking it due to its cost)
    in a way im happy to not have a daughter becuase of this im too scared to have one but i have two boys and damn it im just as scared for them so a daughter would fuck my head up more i think! so im very happy to hear you are protective of your daughter. she is going to blossom into a very nice young lady becuase of you. i always tell my child hood experiences to others in hopes of prevention of others being harmed so i thank you for helping in spreading the word. .....peace and love
    whats good for the goose is good for the gander
  • to all who read this please you can express to me how you feel this will help others know how important this topic is.....if it makes you angry then shout........
    if it makes you sad then tell how you are feeling i promise it helps!
    if you have no emotions from it then maybe you didnt understand it. and thats ok too i will educate you about it. child molesting is the worst thing a human can do to another human being that the victim is just a child!
    whats good for the goose is good for the gander
  • setaside2setaside2 Posts: 1,084
    I have a poem here that was posted elsewhere but it has relevance to a certain point... I hope you don't mind.

    seta

    RETALIATION/
    broken aviation

    She sat in her corner
    Folding industriously,
    Of course,
    A piece of college ruled.
    Just finished dusting
    And rusted in mind
    She let the plane
    Wing it’s way through the
    Worldly currents provided by
    The stainless steel of a heat vent.
    It hovered silent,
    Slipping upward to
    Graze the ceiling with a rush
    Of movement
    And a wisp of air.
    Nose dive,
    Graceful still,
    It sticks in the carpet tip first.
    The fragile cockpit command center
    Would have been a wreck
    Yet
    Paper survives and so
    No actual death
    She sighed as she reached over
    To pick it up
    And watched sadly as her father
    Entered the room crushing it
    Poor thing
    With his right heel
    “How many times..?”
    He asked
    “HOW many TIMES?”
    He seethed
    “HOW MANY TIMES?!”
    He flurried
    Emphasizing every syllable
    Her heart was crushed
    With his right heel
    She cried for the loss
    He grew angrier
    So misunderstood it seems
    The both of them
    He exploded
    She flinched
    He shouted
    She screamed
    And they ate dinner
    Parenthood it seems
    Is a compound word
    Meaning hypocrisy
    Teenage it seems
    Is merely a two syllable word
    She discontinued the situation
    In the interest of dinner
    One argues with no stomach
    When running on one that is empty
    A Roman thought
    For an American girl
    She was special
    And yet in the end
    She wasn’t anything new
    Her tragedy…
    She was an American legacy
    Fancied herself a cinematic event
    Even a star shining dimly
    Somewhere in the overview of
    The estimated timed arrivals
    Her tragedy…
    As any other star
    Who died in a violent plane crash
    Who died in the throes
    A part of our woes
    Those who died in the arms of the country
    That reared
    Rejected
    Realized and
    Revered them
    In time she may have been as such
    Was such
    So we may suppose
    As she trusted her fancies
    More pink and real
    More sunset and starlight
    More scented and full
    Than anything he bedroom window
    Could have provided her
    Than anything her shades
    Could have protected her from
    Her nickname: bent reality
    Depression her bitter arrow
    The paper airplane her downward fall
    Surround her
    Around her
    Underground her
    Love spoke spatters
    Poetry with edges roughly hewn
    Untaught and dissolute
    Deluded
    Diluted
    Drowned in misconception
    Folded by shaking hands
    Into yet another paper airplane
    Shy and slight
    Made in the image of its creator
    It flew as predicted
    Shy and slight
    With eyes alight
    Youthful effervescence
    Evanescence
    The faded truth of a tradition broken by lack of faith
    Communication
    Built upon the familiar
    The Familiar
    She was fire and her plane was hot
    Gliding to a gentle stop on the corner
    Of the baked brick and mahogany mantel
    Above the fireplace
    It teetered there as if deciding
    Was it tired of the air?
    Momentarily, as time slowed to a pin point,
    It leapt off the edge in a spiraling swirl
    The room itself swayed and spun in jealousy
    Her eyes following it into and just beyond
    The lip of a trash can
    That sat adjacent to the white leather sofa or rather
    Just behind it
    There was a thunder of fury at her back as her father entered the room
    Reaching for the trash can
    Desperate
    Seeking to find the cause of his irrationality
    Her heart was crushed in his right fist and he threw it on the table
    Her hair flew upward in a golden arc
    As the violence struck her broadside giving her the crimson rush
    Her arm slowly rose to midshoulder height
    As she held an oblong
    Reflective
    Somehow metallic object in her hand
    Something she had only just thought of what seemed like hours ago
    It glinted
    Catching his eye...
    As it rose toward the ceiling
    He flinched believeing it her retaliation
    To his already dawning realization that he might have made a mistake
    And to his unconscious prayers unbidden in an effort to karmically appease the Mistakes he has made
    There was a flash
    A picture of halogen strobe
    He stood unable to control what opened in front of him
    Speechless as the blood flowed
    His eyes widened
    Looking around the still spinning living room
    As if to find someone to help him out
    A saviour for him
    And his daughter
    He stuttered as she closed her eyes and soared over her right wrist
    He started to yell and amazing tears came, blisteringly hot and surprising,
    Pleading in a language she couldn't really understand
    Never understood
    It was all so foreign
    She perceived in her somewhat enlightened and lightheaded state
    That it was yet another outburst
    That was all she knew
    The dying know much, however misinterpreted, and she whispered,
    "It's the carpet isn't it? You only care about the blood in the carpet"
    She knew nothing
    Nothing new
    A statistic
    A Folk Hero
    An American legend
    A paper airplane.
    I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
  • thank you for posting that, of course i dont mind i want people to hear these things, the pain only slighly fades the anger stays put, the memories stay fresh, the hate never leaves, sadness will always remain.....such a big part of life wasted on past pain,but please to all that have hurt, remeber pain isnt all there is there are others needing your ears, your eyes, your thoughts, and prayers.............to live! peace and love to all of you....
    i hope little posts like these help to ease your mind and know that we are at a time in life where you no longer have to keep silent its not anything to be ashamed of , you can keep your innocence you can get it back! help spread the word and stop the attacks!!!!!! we are comming to those who cause pain and loss, we will find you and be rid of you, we are finally our own boss!take this as you want leave with it in fear, i hate those who harm things so precious and dear...............
    whats good for the goose is good for the gander
  • really intense poem! It certainly does it's job! A real emotion-evoker. Almost hard to read at some points cause you can feel the genuine feeling in it, which means of course that it's a damn good poem!
    .........................................................................
  • thanks groove sweety!
    whats good for the goose is good for the gander
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