The sting of the belt will never leave my skin.
The sound of our scream will never leave my ears.
The sight of your anger will never leave my eyes.
But still i’ve tried over and over, even now as an adult, to just forget the truth to just forget the pain of the truth of you as my mother being only my abuser.
It’s a story with many vines, many webs to be crossed, to many details to be heard, somehow they become jumbled to the unheard.
Sometimes it’s to hard, to hard to close my eyes.
To remember the pain of the time, I would have rather have just been dead.
I can do this key thing that many people find odd, I often find myself explaining it’s just a situation of abuse.
I use laughter as a way, as a way to cope with life, if you know me for real you’ll tell me i’m funny you hear.
I learned this very young, as I memorized the sounds that your mouth would make before the words could even take shape.
“You want to cry, I’ll give you something to cry about”
Oh those words, they echoed thru the house, as we stood in that line, the line you oh so evenly formed.
We stood there knowing, knowing there’d come a time, when those famous words would form only to say, once again.
“Go get the belt”
Frozen, like ice, ice built up so high, it was to much to even bare, carefully picking out the one that would bring those silent screams oh so ever back to life.
As you held it in your hand, pursueing your thoughts, of which child.
Which child’s soul would you so elegantly break first?
I often wonder if a thought is what you had, as you swung that belt, like your personal baseball bat.
You see, you never had very good aim, it didn’t matter where it hit.
The pain of it hitting our back, the pain of that strap.
I would sit in the bath, counting the bruises, all different stages of healing, my legs resembled the color of the inner rainbow of abuse.
I once asked you a magic question, the one that would shape the thinking of my future!
“Mommy why do you give me bruises?”
You see, when I asked you that question, we were at a lake, in a bathroom and I just happen to see a familiar face…
Not a face of a human, or even a man, only a symbol of abuse, marked as a face of a bruise.
I still remember the stench of the smell, and the sweat of the hot summer day, because your answer rippled thru me, with no question of delay.
“It’s normal every parent does it!”
I’d later learn the true case, the case of your lies.
But not before it would haunt me oh so ever alive.
I now have two kids, and I advocate for parents to please just not hit.
Because what they don’t know is that one year I asked santa for a dream barbie house, but what I got was a room with you and him, oh who is him?
You know the new man that you married?
As I screamed and pleaded, I begged because I knew.
You would think he was reaching out to stop you no doubt, instead as he reached closer it was clear he was holding me down for you to be oh so near.
The belt with the apple buckle, the belt my new step mom had just bought me just that other day.
Became a metal for you, and santa’s red present for me, only my skin now resembled the same color as that buckle.
As red as that apple on the new belt you oh so proudly swung.
“I love you, Santa’s bringing your presents”
Those words echoed thru my head, as you tucked me into your bed, just after my only Christmas eve of only dread.
My stories could continue, because as more drugs clouded your system, I became your target of what so often only made you mad.
My hair became your handle, as you’d pull it just so ever hard to be sure that, that point on my bed would hit it just right.
They say forgiveness is key, it’ll make me a better person you see.
I tell the public i’ve done just that, but i’m not sure I ever could, to forgive would be to forget, for you to have no regret.
the ripples of the effects of your abuse you ever so blame on my dad, have left the scars that imprint on more than just my legs.
I believe everyday that when you lay down to rest on your last day, that when you meet your maker you can tell him more than just,
“The pain medication took away my memory, I don’t remember what I did, so accountable i’ll never be”
This is my story to tell, my cross to bear, I suppose if i help another child to heal, it’ll all be worth it,
To not succumb to the pain of your abuse you oh so proudly led.
Child abuse is real, it happens every day.
If you see it report it.
Only cowards don’t report child abuse.
A mother is 3 times more likely to abuse or neglect her own child then the father yet we still blame fathers time & time again.
Mother’s get away with child abuse more then any other abuser because no body want’s to believe a mother could abuse her own child.
My father saved my life, father’s are fighting every day to get their children out of dangerous environments.
National Statistics on Child Abuse
In 2015, an estimated 1,670 children died from abuse and neglect in the United States.1 In 2015, Children’s Advocacy Centers around the country served more than 311,0002 child victims of abuse, providing victim advocacy and support to these children and their families.
Nearly 700,000 children are abused in the U.S annually. An estimated 683,000 children (unique incidents) were victims of abuse and neglect in 2015, the most recent year for which there is national data.
CPS protects more than 3 million children. Approximately 3.4 million children received an investigation or alternative response from child protective services agencies. 2.3 million children received prevention services.
The youngest children were most vulnerable to maltreatment. Children in the first year of their life had the highest rate of victimization of 24.2 per 1,000 children in the national population of the same age.
Neglect is the most common form of maltreatment. Of the children who experienced maltreatment or abuse, three-quarters suffered neglect; 17.2% suffered physical abuse; and 8.4% suffered sexual abuse. (Some children are polyvictimized—they have suffered more than one form of maltreatment.)
About four out of five abusers are the victims’ parents. A parent of the child victim was the perpetrator in 78.1% of substantiated cases of child maltreatment.
1-800-4-A-Child is the national child abuse hotline.
If you see it report it!
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