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Connie Lee

 

 

                  He's Watching

 

Mysterious nights went by, slowly unnumbered,

While her innocent body lay in an enchantingly deep slumber.

A monster in the dark lurked about

Conjuring up evil, so for her, there was no way out.

He cast his evil spell that fathomed her soul.

No one was she to tell, when from her innocence he stole.

There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

He's sneering, waiting, and watching.

 

Signs of the dawn suddenly appear

and the secrets of the night are profoundly made clear.

King of the giants, with all of their knowledge, could not for see

the woe, the pain, and the misery.

Poison still lingers in the air.

No need to worry, for he is still there.

He's sneering, waiting, and watching.

 

The sun begins to shine through the shadowy veil.

Time heals all wounds and life prevails.

The evil of the night no longer hoovers over her breast.

She can sleep without crying and fear is put to rest.

Her beauty is more captivating with each passing day,

Yet, taunting memories still creep in her way.

He's sneering, waiting, and watching.

 

Pulled out of dreamland by an overwhelming fright,

Make him stop! What's that sound? I’m scared! Who keeps lurking in the night?

Her trembling heart is silenced by the refuge that is near.

Was it a dream or is he still there?

Her conscience is seared!

She knows he is still there,

Sneering, waiting, and watching,

Somewhere!

 

BY: Connie Lee

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Susan Garren

A Child's Tears by Susan Garren

A Child’s Tears

 

Written by Susan Garren

 

I am a victim and I bleed.  I am a victim and I cry.  I am a victim and no one takes heed.  I am a little girl who only wants a home.  Why cannot I have a home that I can call my own.  Adults are more impressed with power than with my needs.  I am a victim of the courts.  I am a victim of CSD.  I am a victim of a Mother who keeps leaving me.  How long must I suffer before they see?

 

I scream in terror and inflicted pain until I bleed.  Afraid to sleep.  Afraid to sleep for fear the sex dreams reappear.  Many nights I ran in fear toward my new Mom and Dad who held me near.  Why don’t they listen?  Why won’t they hear?

 

Why am I different?  I only want a home with a Mom and Dad I can call my own.  Why can’t they let me be?  The damage that has been done to me…you may not always see.  Oh, please dear God, let them see what is happening to me.  They seem so blind to my pain.  Adults filled with their own self-importance.  Why can’t they see?

 

I want to be loved.  I want to feel safe and secure.  Please God,  give me my wish before it’s too late.  I don’t want to learn to hate.  I’m only a little girl.  I want to know where am I going to live.  Where is my home?  Will I see my friends at school, or will they take me away again?  Is anyone listening?  Does anyone hear? How many times must I return to my new parents only to be taken again.  Is anyone listening?  Does anybody hear?

 

My birth parents were teens when I was born.  They were too young to be parents.  I sleep many places… moved too many times.  I lose my belongings…no place to call home.  My Dad is in jail.  My Mom could not cope.  Please Mommy, don’t hurt me this way.  Many men I’ve called Father, some have gone.  One returns, again and again. 

 

I have a new baby brother.  His father is different from mine.  We have the same Mother.  I fear she won’t take good care of him…just like me.  Then where will he be?  I want him to live with me.  Why can’t my new Mom and Dad take my brother too?  I cannot understand.  I worry what will happen to him.  He is just newborn you see.

 

I want a home like others…a Mom…a Dad…a place I know.  I want to forget all of the rest.  I’m tired of loosing my things.  I never know if this will be home when I wake up from rest.  How long must I wait before they decide that this is where I should always be?

 

I am so angry.  I am tired, frustrated and sad.  Why don’t they listen.  Why can’t they hear.  Why can’t they see what is happening here?  Please let them listen.  Please let them hear.    I am tired of hurting all these long years.  How much more must I suffer?  How can I endure?  Let my adults see a child is at stake.  Please God, help them listen…let them make no mistake.

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 John Harrison

 

 

 

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 Tara C Laracuente

The stranger i knew. Original poem.

the stranger i knew

The stranger i knew was a family member. Always treated me kind and showed alot of love towards me. But i didnt know that the love he showed would deceive me. He made me feel like a prisoner. He brought me to a dark and dreary place. A place only seen in a nightmare. The way he touched me paralyzed me and made it difficult to escape. He made me feel like a helpless child without a mother. His lips touched mine as if there was some type of magnetic force pulling us together. I wanted to scream for help but i couldnt allow myself to do so. He stayed close to me as if he was protecting me from harm. But he was the one harming me. I allowed everything to go on for weeks because i was trembling from fear. In the end the stranger i knew was my uncle.

 

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Tara C. Laracuente

Our Little Secret. Original Poem by myself.

 

 

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Janie Long Hunter

A Grown Up Kid

 

 A Grown Up Kid

I look like a little girl to all who
see,

  But, I'm not like you think I
should be.

 

I do have hopes and I have
some dreams

But my life is not at all what it  seems.
It's
not little girl parties where everyone goes,

 

It's all about secrets that no one knows.
I go to sleep my eyes
full of tears.
Nobody must know about all my fears

 

I wake up dreading the day to begin,

 

It'll happen again, there's no way to win..
I'm searching for
love from anyone I see,
But no one’s around, there's only me
I'm
searching for help but none can be found.
I close my eyes and  pray that
he's gone,

 

Then open them up and see I'm not alone

 

He's there to hurt me and there's no place to
hide.

 

I just wish I had someone on my side.

 

I bathe and bathe to wash him away,
No matter what I do he seems
to stay.
I pray for someone to protect me at night.
I wish  for someone
to just hold me tight.
I wish for friends,like all  little
girls do,
But I'm left all alone in this room when he's through.
Will I
ever be like you want me to be,
Will I ever be someone that anybody
sees
I live in a world of constant fear,
I cry out in pain, but there's
no one to hear.

 

I want to play games and ride on a bike,

 

I want to go shopping  or maybe go on a hike.

 

There's no time for daydreams or fun to be had

 

My childhood was stolen by men that were bad

 

So my little girl wishes will forever be a dream,

 

Because after all, I'm not who I seem.
 

 

Janie Long Hunter 2011

 

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Carol Diane Tolbert

 

 

Conqueror

Carried a heavy load along a hard road.

Be assured God gave strength

Now compassion for fellow travelers comes easy

Could have chosen to be angry

That wouldn't have done any good

Now many look this way and know their path could get easier

My life is their inspiration to press on through

Head hangs low no longer

Feet drag the ground no more

The phrase, "Poor me, poor me!" has not been uttered in a while

The attire chosen to wear are not torn or stained

Inside victory is beginning to reflect outwardly

When you see my scars, please don't think, "Oh! poor woman.",

but rather, "That woman is a conqueror!"

I am here to say, "God gave all the strength for the road traveled.

Through Him 'I am more than a conqueror.' Praise the Lord!"

(Written by: Diane Tolbert (aka- Tolby Bear aka- Aunt D. aka- Grizzhoney Bear) on 07/14/09 at 6:00 am)

 

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Tamela Burckhardt

                                                           

                                                                     

A poem

Friends come in many shapes particularly when brought together by surviving rapes.
We are like the trees blown and bending by the breeze. ...
Though they toss and bend and bow, they hold fast deeply rooted in the ground.
Our friends are the support keeping us from being blown apart.
For in life we must bend and give like the trees in the wind.
Our roots support us drawing in strength, from friends.
 
 
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Innocents Shattered By Tamela Monroe- Burckhardt

Innocents shattered, life came crashing down

Still this world, just kept turning round

Spinning, and twirling

The pain kept whirling

Will this pain ever stop

Or am I just life’s cruel prop

Life moves on, I'm no longer that child

My life as a teen, proves to be quite wild

As a wild child, drug and drink

Can not cover the pain of the way I think

It sure can not protect me

From the pain and abuse dealt me

Time moves forward yet I still sat and cowered

From a new one that would gladly abuse, in abundance it was showered

Life came crashing down

With barely a whisper of sound

I wished myself dead

But I chose to live instead

I moved forward

I refused to be lowered

Life could be good

Be as it should

Now with all of my heart, I strive

Just to Thrive

 
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Ann-Marie Stapp

 

19 GOING ON 8 ( 22 Feb 1995) Topic: Professional Abuse

 

I

wanted

you

to

love,

hold

touch,

care,

nurture,

fulfil,

me.

When

you

loved,

held,

touched

me

like

you

did

I

was

not

cared,

nurtured

or

fulfilled

because

I

was

19

going

on

8.

    Ann-Marie Stapp      22 February 1995  (age 29)

This is why professionals listening to sexual abuse stories from a client shouldn’t sexualise the relationship.  

Ann-Marie Stapp 9 March 2008 (age 42)

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Ann-Marie Stapp 

 

Self Condemnation (31 August 1984 - age 18).

 

YOU

as insignificant

as you are

THINK you know the future.

YOU

have supposedly

Considered

ALL

the possibilities

BUT

you forget that only I

can account for

ALL

of them.

I

alone KNOW what

is going to happen

in your

innings.

When

are you going to

STOP

picking

worrying

and planning

and

START

trusting

MY

LOVE MY

SECURITY?

AM Stapp 31 August 1984 (age 18)

                                         

  • And I learnt early to criticise/demean/destroy myself and be desperate to be understood. It is only this year I can self soothe with the mantra "trust yourself" and then action that by trusting myself.

8 Oct 2011 (age 46)

And at this point Ive met the counsellor/trainer/co-ordintaor of an agnecy to help rape/child abuse victims. This is how vulnerable I was to the exploitation that was to come.

2 January 2012 (age 46)

 

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 Ann-Marie Stapp

SPIRIT ABUSED  (22 Feb 1995): on the emotional responses of Rage Terror Shame

Woman.

I told you

about the explosion

as my head flew apart

when he entered me

and their was

no room for

my  spirit to Stay.

BUT.

Woman.

How could you miss

the implosion

as my insides contracted

when you entered me

and their was

no room for

my spirit to move?

Woman.

Their was no difference

between the explosion or the implosion.

You both abused  my spirit.

Ann-Marie Stapp 22 Februrary 1995 (age29)

    

On 27th July of 2007 I was rereading some of my writing. I realised then that my rage, shame, terror states had a pattern.

With the incest, the intrusions resulted in rage and the abandonment resulted in shame. Terror was the state in between.

With the professional incest it reversed, and abandonment triggered rage and intrusion bought on shame. Terror remained the state in between.  The terror is the state of waiting for either intrusion and/or abandonment to occur. I also refer to this as the “no win” or the “double mind bind”.

Ann-Marie Stapp 9 March 2008 (age 42)

And of course this is further comment on professional abuse.

Ann-Marie Stapp  3 January 2012 (age 46)

http://ann-mariestapp.blogspot.com/2011/11/spirit-abused-22-feb-199...


 

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Ann-Marie Stapp

 

 

Staying or leaving (22 February 1995): on chosing to stay in therapy

 

Sitting on the floor

rainbow at my head.

Wrapped in a blanket

being cherished.

I remember the event(s).

I see flashes of him.. her.. her…him..

them, “it”.

Raping my body.

I tremble as my spirit re-enters

the body and

stays

for me to

experience

the terror

I could not feel then.

As we talk

                   I cannot look

                                      because I have slipped into shame

(like suicide slips into the sea)

                                      and feel my body’s pleasure

                                      then tremble some more.

Fear scatters, leaving me undaunted.

Knowing I have a choice

to stay or leave.

      Ann-Marie Stapp  22 February 1995 (age 29)

Here I am writing about a therapy session. Trying to find ways to give my life words to a witness. The hardest bit to deal with was my sexualised responses. I knew I had been sexualised to violence from the incest but through being professionally incested, I had become sexualised to gentleness. I was sexually responding in the therapy room. I chose to stay even though I had no words for it and have only just begun to articulate the worry of that for me.

        Ann-Marie Stapp  9 March 2008 (age 42)

A difficult one to post today. Exposing. And adult themes. Many counsellors makes statements about "recovery being hard work". My response to that, "it’s not recovery when you never had it in the first place, it’s getting".

         Ann-Marie Stapp  5 January 2012

http://ann-mariestapp.blogspot.com/2011/11/staying-or-leaving-22-fe...

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Ann-Marie Stapp

Who is the victim? (July 1985: age 19)

 

Is it me that's really suffering

or is it my pride?

I don’t really understand

why the pain remains inside?

I’ve had months of counselling

to relieve some of the pain.

Now I try not to think about it

but thoughts still dwell – yet again.

I wonder if he feels guilty

for the crime that he has done

or if he chooses to forget

-         considers it harmless fun?

He has said that he has sorry

he has asked for my forgiveness,

by mouth says he has it

but I still feel guilty – useless.

Useless and scared to reach out in life

in fear the pain wont go.

I want to be free to understand

but how on earth would he know?

I want so much to tell the world

to yell and scream the detail

but it really pulls my inside out

to share and I fear that I will fail.

I know that I was a little girl

I didn’t know what it meant.

My head says “It’s not your fault”

but my heart says different.

As I begin to understand

what it was that happened to me

I start to wonder who the victim is

is it I – or is it he???

I’ve made the choice to work it through

a lot more that he has done

but I fear the awful fact

that I am not the only one.

In a sense I have been set free,

from a lot of the pain,

and I know that I can now help

many others love again.

The purpose behind this writing

is to help me to know

and understand the feelings I have

and now I’m challenged and ready to go…

To go and get on with living

the best that I can,

accepting what my past has been

and all that I am.        

AM Stapp (age 19)    Fri 12 July 1985 8.05pm Wellington Railway Station

Written while contemplating suicide by train.    Final operation on leg in Feb 1985. Finished volunteer training. Transferred to another city for work in June. Enrolled at Wellington Polytech for block course to make up for missing 1984 Computer Programming training. Finished counselling with Hospital Social Worker. Continuing trips to Blenheim for follow up volunteer training and connection with the volunteer agency counsellor.

                                      Ann-Marie Stapp 2007 (age 42)

And even at 19, I was thinking about the bigger picture of the layers of no winners when abuse occurs.

                                         Ann-Marie Stapp 13 October 2011 (age 46)

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Ann-Marie Stapp

 

 

My body knows (22 February 1995 age 29): On body memory

 

In a moment of disbelief

I am reminded by a body

that has not forgotten

and will not forget.

A picture reminds me where my

arms are pinned

and the morning begins

with two shoulders screaming like

they want to be put

back into their sockets.

The excema I was born with returns

to my breasts, face, upper arms

and the first time in my pubic hair

as my vagina releases an unnamed infection that is

white, creamy, thick, repugnant.

My stomach twitches as I wash

and clean it and try to

ignore the memory

and want to vomit.

The  22cm scar on the leg from the

6th motorcycle accident gleams

as yet another unwanted reminder.

My throat and chest clog

as I can no longer breathe.

My hear pounds so loud and fast

I hyperventilate and faint.

My back injury flares up – the one everyone thought I got from accident one, where I whiplashed my neck and hurt my shoulder blade.

The one that the osteo reckons the injury happened around age 9.

I reckon try 10, standard 4, when I couldn’t do

my speciality sporting event because I couldn’t high

jump the night before.

The throbbing penetrating pain going through

the back of my head knows

the position of his hands

holding my mouth to his.

My body holds heaps of little burn size scars

that bear testimony to digging of my flesh.

My hands wear tiny little marks

from tiny little pins embedded in my skin.

The poison comes out of my

body with herpes on my skin

as I remember that no-one notices

that we get cold sores at the same time.

Evidence of STD at age 20.

Transmitted only by a man.

Genital warts, dysplasic cervix

says of unwanted invasions.

My nose recalls the smell of urine placed in the bottle of

shampoo for my turn next in the bath.

The blisters on the tip of my fingers when I lift them off the element

remind me of what it is to be 4

and curious and get your fingers burnt.

My mind can switch off.

My spirit can take off.

But my body knows every inch

of every place that has been hurt.

My body knows.

      Ann-Marie Stapp 22 February 1995 (age 29)

Yep. The body remembers. And the Mulitiple Sclerosis, sometimes those symptoms mimic the body memory of the abuse and then its a double layer to deal with. Sucks.

        Ann-Marie Stapp 7 January 2012 (age 46)

 

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Dehlia Miller

 

Sadness (written January 2010)

Driving down the road,

hear an old song on the radio.

Waves of sadness wash over me,

at what my life was then,

and what could’ve been.


Waves of sadness grip my mind

and take me back in time

to the incredible sadness then

and what should’ve been

the life of a little girl.

 


I grew up too fast,

felt like happiness would never last.

Took in the pain caused by others

and hurt myself to feel alive,

to express the hurt I felt inside.


Held it all in my mind.

Could I stop it in time?

Before I went too far

and ended my life.


I tried so many times,

nobody even knew.

I remember all the days,

all the ways.


God must have known

that he had plans for me.

He kept me alive,

he never let me die.


And here I sit, sad, thinking about my past.

Will any happiness ever last?

Can I ever forget what was done to me?

Can I ever be free?

Will these feelings ever go away?

Feelings of hurt, betrayal, anger,

mistrust and the ever present sadness.


Why didn’t I change it then?

Why didn’t I stop him?

Would I be who I am

if it didn’t all happen then?


Why me? Why me? I cry out.

God answers me,I know it’s him,

without a doubt.

He says “My child, so you can help them.

Just trust me and take my hand.

I will lead you on your path.”

 

Some know that I understand,

they trust me,they take my hand.

But I want to take it away,

all their pain and hurt.


I have to remember only God can do that.

And God will help me with mine,

it just takes time.


So I get down on my knees

and I pray please.

Please God, help me with this,

this incredible sadness

that just keeps coming back.

God take it away and replace it with your joy, love, peace and happiness.

God I want to live for you.

Make my spirit fresh and anew.

 

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Dehlia Miller

Mirror (written in August 2011)

I look in the mirror,

I swear it's not me.

In my head, that's not who I see.

But then again can I trust my head?

After all, it's the one that wants me dead

or maybe that's my heart it's tired of being torn apart.

I sit and wonder, trying to figure it out.

It makes me crazy, makes me want to shout.

I stare into my own eyes

wondering how I even got this awful disguise.

They fill with tears

as I think about all the years.

But even the tears don't make me see myself

as I look in the mirror.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________-Dehlia Miller 

Dehlia Miller    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
          
Standing on the edge (written June 2011)

Standing on the edge

Looking at the darkness below

Thinking about my life

Feeling so low.

 
I really wanna jump,

make it all go away

jump into the nothingness

forget it all today.


My head is spinning

seems so clouded sometimes.

How did I get so lost?

Lost in all this pain


I look in the mirror everyday

I hate who I see.

I don’t even know that person

I don’t believe that it’s me.


Feel with my foot

I really can’t see

It’s so dark down there

Is that really where I wanna be?


Think of my baby

My little boy

Sleeping at home

Somedays he’s my only joy.


I can’t do this to him

I can’t leave this way.

I turn to go really

not ready to face another day.

 


Another day of feeling alone

Even when I’m with a crowd

Another day of memories

Sometimes my thoughts are just too loud.


But I go home

and eventually drift off to sleep

My body is so tired

I’m really beat

 

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Dehlia Miller

 

Lost Spirit (written as a teenager)

Her world is spinning out of control,

she feels so helpless,

so powerless to stop anything.

A little of her spirit is lost.


She hears the insults meant for her

but she can't stop them

so she lets them settle into her brain.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Accusations made against her,

she tries to protest  but her words

are lost in the yelling of another.

A little of her spirit is lost.


A crying baby,

she changes its diaper, gets its bottle.

Her mind is only half awake.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Rocking back and forth,

someone downstairs starts the yelling again,

tears start to slide down her face.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Food cooking on the stove,

the sight of it makes her stomach churn,

she can't even taste it anymore.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Work to do, all for others,

she goes through the routines,

her body knows what to do.

A little of her spirit is lost.


So much homework,so much done already,

stories to read and stories to write,

she can't do it all in one night.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Her eyes are getting heavy,

she slips into bed at two am.

She thinks of all the things that didn't get done.

A little of her spirit is lost.


Her head is throbbing,she's so tired.

Her body shakes with sobs

as she realizes depression has set in.

Her spirit is lost. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Summer Hawk

As the rain falls
I remember gentler times
A time of innocence
I was free to love
and be loved
Nothing could touch me ...
I was safe
Storms raging
Invade my thoughts
Making me question
Am I worthy?
Old scars surface
Leaving blood stained tears
On old roads traveled
Shadows dance
In my minds eye
With every blow
I beg to wonder
Am I worthy?
So many lost chances
Broken dreams
Shatter like glass
Raping my soul of innocence
Old forgotten voices
Thunder through my heart
I hide
Behind walls
Shaken to the core
The question begging to be answered
Am I worthy?
Then you
With your tender heart
Gently creep in
Gifting me hope
Another road to travel
My thoughts spin
Do I dare to believe
That I have found in you
The chance to be worthy
~♥SummerHawk♥~
We are strong and yet we stumble from time to time over old roads in our past, but we have the choice to allow it shape us and make us stronger or consume us and keep us a prisoner within ourselves. Know that you are worthy.....♥~
 

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Summer Hawk-  LOST INNOCENCE

BATHED IN THE LIGHT OF INNOCENCE

SHE STANDS ON THE BREATH OF HOPE

TO BE TOUCHED

IN LOVE IS ALL SHE CRAVES

BUT AS NIGHT CLOSES IN ...

DARKNESS SWEEPS INTO HER SOUL

FOREBODING FOOTFALLS DRAW EVER CLOSER

HE STOMACH BEGINS TO CHURN

IN THE AGONY OF WHAT WILL FOLLOW

THE LIGHT CREEPS ACROSS HER ROOM

FOLLOWED BY THE SICKLY SWEET SMELL OF HIM

HE ROBS HER OF HER INNOCENCE TIME N AGAIN

HER SILENT SCREAMS ECHO THROUGH HER MIND

WITHDRAWING INTO HERSELF

TERRIFIED TO UTTER A SOUND

AS TO BRING ON HIS WRATH

WOULD ONLY PROVOKE MORE PAIN

ONCE HE HAS HAD HIS FILL OF HER

HE LEAVES TAKING THE LIGHT WITH HIM

SILENTLY SHAKING

BROKEN AND ALONE SHE WEEPS

WONDERING WHY SHE MUST ENDURE HIS "LOVE"

SHE LONGS FOR THE FREEDOM

TO LAUGH

TO PLAY

TO LIVE

IF ONLY SHE COULD THE COURAGE TO SPEAK

WHO COULD SHE TURN TO?

WHO COULD SHE TRUST?

WHO WOULD BELIEVE?

HER MIND REELS

AS SHE DRIFTS TO DREAM

KNOWING

THERE MUST BE MORE TO LIFE

THAN THIS

~♥SummerHawk♥~

EVERY CHILD DESERVES LOVE EVERY CHILD DESERVES THE CHANCE TO LIVE WITHOUT FEAR FOR EVERY CHILD IS SACRED ~♥HUGZZZZZZZZnLUVZZZZZZZ♥~


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DRIFTING IN THOUGHT
TRAILS OF BROKEN PROMISES
BLEEDING SCARS
PALE REMINDERS
OF DAYS GONE BY ...
HER SPIRIT HUNGRY
TIRED OF LIFE'S TRIALS
AWAITING LIFE'S JOY
WONDERING
WANDERING THROUGH THE SPACES
IN HER MIND
TO KNOW THE TOUCH OF LOVE
INSTEAD OF HURT
TO KNOW THE TRUTH OF WORDS
BEYOND LIES
TO TRUST IN ANOTHER
TO FIND SAFETY
WRAPPED IN LOVES EMBRACE
SOMEONE TO WALK IN THIS LIFE
WHO SEES HER VALUE
HER TRUTH
HER LIGHT
SOMEONE TO GIFT HER HEART FREELY TO
AND KNOW IT IS TREASURED ABOVE ALL
THE WINDS WHISPER TO HER SOUL
AWAKENING WITHIN
THE TRUTH OF THE RARE GEM SHE IS
KNOWING EACH HEARTBREAK
WAS PREPARING HER
FOR THAT ONE WHO WOULD SEE HER
WHO WOULD TAKE HER HEART
HOLDING IT CLOSE
GUARDING AND PROTECTING
FOR LOVE IS A SACRED GIFT
~♥SummerHAWK♥~ ~♥HUGZZZZZZZnLUVZZZZZZ♥~
 

 

THIS SPACE
FEELS LIKE A CAGE
THE COLD DARKENED BARS
CLOSING IN
STRANGLING MY SOUL ...
LEAVING ME LOST
DROWNING IN SELF DOUBT

WANTING ACCEPTANCE OF FAMILY
FINDING ONLY CLOSED DOORS
WHISPERS BEHIND WALLS
DROWNING IN MY THOUGHTS
THE CRUELTY OF THEIR WORDS
DANCE BEFORE ME
TAUNTING ME
SLOWLY IGNITING A FIRE
THAT BURNS DEEP WITHIN
I WILL NOT BECOME
WHAT THEY CHOSE ME TO BE
THEY WILL NOT DEFINE THE ME
WITHIN ME I WILL SHED THEIR THOUGHTS
LIKE THE BUTTERFLY EMERGING
I WILL BREAK FREE
CUTTING THE TIES THAT BIND
FOR THEY NO LONGER HOLD ME~♥SummerHawk♥~
DONT ALLOW ANYONE TO EVER MAKE YOU FEEL LESS THAN WHAT YOU ARE
STAND STRONG IN THE BEAUTY OF YOU
ABUSE WHETHER IT BE PHYSICAL OR MENTAL IS STILL ABUSE
BE THE VOICE FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT HAVE THE STRENGTH
SHARE YOUR STORIES SO THAT OTHERS MAY FIND THEIR
VOICE IN THIS WE ARE ALL HEALED
BY SHEDDING LIGHT INTO THE SHADOWS
WE CAN HOPE TO END THIS CYCLE
BLESSINGS TO ALL ~♥HUGZZZZZZZZZnLUVZZZZZZZ♥~See More

 

 

 

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Art By Rae Luskin

PAIN

 

Sexual Assault

 

Inner Demons

 

Pain

 

Keening Lost Innocence 

 

 

 

 

Healing

 

 

Love Thyself

 

 

 

 

LLAMA

 

Reflection

 

 

 

Young-Child

 

Lead With Your Heart, a wonderful art book for any ages to lead students in creative self discovery and working through the pain to healing!

Rae Luskin

Art and Soul Connections

www.RaeLuskin.net

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Michal Madison

Art by Michal Madison

Broken Heart

 

 

 

Just A Baby

 

 

 

 

 

WHY?

 

 

 

 

 

Secrets

 

 

 

Stop The Abuse

 

 

 

Thoughtful

 

Journey

 

WOW

 

IMAGINE

 

BANDAID

 

TRUST

SHE TRUSTS YOU

 


BLACK NIGHT

INNOCENCE

ERIN'S LAW

ENOUGH

 

 

 

ARICA

 

 

 

 

ROSE

 

 

 

Tears

Bruised

Absolutely Not

Escaping The Chaos

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Michal Madison

in my beginning...

my parents didn't look like pediphiles & sexual molesters. upper middle class...they both had great jobs ~ my dad was the business manager of two successful coorperations. my mom stopped working at a job she loved, a few weeks before i was born, to be a stay-at-home mom. they were friendly, energetic, well liked, charismatic leaders in both the community & church (still are). it all looked perfect on the outside...but only a few months after i was born, they began sexually abusing me.

but really, what does a pediphile/sexual molestor look like? i was always taught that they sneak around schools & play grounds, look creepy & was taught not to talk to these strangers because they might hurt you. well, the people hurting me, turning love & affection into sexual abuse...using me as a sex toy for their own pleasure...were the people who meant the most to me in the whole world! the people i loved & trusted to take care of me!

since the abuse started when i was a tiny infant i never had a moment where i knew this was me & that i you. i was just an extension of them. if they wanted what i had ~ me ~ they took it. i never knew what a boundary was. that lack of boundaries affected my life profoundly...

it was on a business trip, in the back of the company van that i was first raped at age four. i clearly remember the shiney silver door handles & how the light came through the windows & that my head was hitting the back door, but i don't remember much else because by four i'd mastered the skill of dissociating & separating from my body. when he was done i was leaning against the van wall hugging my knees to my chest, not wanting to move. but he was hungry & took me by the arm, removing me from the van. we sat across from one another & ate pancakes. later that day. i sat on the edge of the front seat (pre-seat-belt-laws) & talked to my dad about whatever. a girl needs her dad & at four i wasn't able to grasp the gravity of what had been happening all my life. i talked a mile a minute, like only a four year old can. he was listening to npr & watching the road. maybe it was when he adjusted the dial on the radio or turned up the volume, but i realized that he wasn't hearing or listening to anything i said. i leaned back against the seat. devastated. the abuse continued for years. i remember when he came in the room, i think it was the last time, i was 15. he came in to teach me "how to be a good wife". i remember it in a dreamlike way. not really wanting to be awake ~ not able to sleep through it either, yet hoping it wasn't happenning.

their abuse didn't stop just because they stopped sexually touching me. as an adult, it seemed every time i came home to visit & would be taking a bath, my mom would find some reason she had to come into the bathroom, now! she always commented about my body, which creeped me out. what further disgusted me was that i knew she was going to tell my dad! a few years ago we were all shopping in macy's & my mom tells me "dad just said, 'wouldn't michal look great in that negligee.'" my dad was standing there, along with others & i was so humiliated i wanted the tiles in the floor to open up & swallow me. they acted like this was nothing out of the ordinary & i guess for them it wasn't!

we were constantly told by our parents what a great family we had. how lucky we were to be part of this family & how perfect our father was. mom compared him to a saint or an angel often! it's crazy making when you're being told one thing by everyone outside &  inside your home, but in your soul there is another truth that remains unheard.

the last time i'd visited my family, i'd noticed that my niece was showing signs of abuse & not being her usual self ~ running out of the bathroom screaming, if my mom was in there ~ she also started peeing her pants again at three years old, & she wouldn't sleep without the nightlight on & her sibling in the room, still she was having nightmares that she'd wake up crying & screaming from! because i didn't want my niece to suffer from a life of abuse at my parent's hands. i found the strength & courage to tell my sister what had happened to me as a child & my concerns about about her daughter.suddenly everything changed. reputation was more important than a child's safety! she never spoke to me again & i haven't seen her children since! when i confronted my parents, a few weeks later, they completely denied everything ~ saying i had a contrived, manipulated imagination! i lost my entire family in a matter of weeks. it's important to stand for the truth & to speak up, even if you stand alone!

while i think this road to healing may be a lifelong journey, i'm grateful to be on the road & no longer in the ditch somewhere... i am healing! art has helped me through all of events in my life...to stay grounded. it helped me find my voice! now i hope my art will help others find their voice & that it brings awareness to the horrific crimes of child abuse & sexual assault! maybe i couldn't save my niece. someday i hope she knows i tried! but i will do everything i can to help other children not have to live through the trauma that i did. it affected everything i did! every decision i made or didn't make.

remember your braver than you think & stronger than you appear!

light & love for continued healing! michal madison

 

Michal Madison watercolor artist helping to stop child abuse.

About Michal

one of my favorite words is "neci". it means fiery & passionate! that's me! that's how i live my life! i love God! i love people! i love to create art ~ to paint the expressions on a person's face & the sparkle in a child's eyes! i never want that sparkle to be dimmed by abuse! i am a survivor of child sexual abuse. because of my past, i'm very passionate about making a difference in the lives of other children! please join me in breaking the silence on this horrible epidemic! together we can make a difference! ten percent of all the sale from my art is donated to erin's law & helping end childhood sexual abuse!
follow erin's law on facebook i'm painting to make a difference! painting for peace!

https://www.facebook.com/#!/michalmadison

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Off the Beaten Path: Violence, Women, & Art online exhibition. View here!

Art Works for Change produces traveling contemporary art exhibitions that address social and environmental issues. It applies the transformative power of art to promote awareness, inspire action and provoke dialogue. The exhibitions serve as catalyst and crucible where artists, museums, advocacy organizations, and the local community can unite in common cause. Off the Beaten Path: Violence, Women and Art is an art exhibition created to address the basic human rights of women and girls to a safe and secure life. The exhibitions has traveled globally since 2009. Tour the exhibition virtually at: http://www.artworksforchange.org/otbp_virtual.htm

Gabriela Morawetz, Poland

J’ai reve que… (I have dreamed that…), from The Sleeping Self series

2008-2009

Photographic transfer, emulsion and wax on canvas

The bed is supposed to be a place of dreams, a comfort zone where one goes to rest the body and mind. But for some, it is a place where the body is violated, trust destroyed. The beds in Morawetz’s Sleeping Self series have accumulated mysterious objects, transforming them. A mattress is piled high with bubbles or fragile glass balls. A figure is entombed in filaments of light, or are they brightly lit nails? As in a dream, these images are removed from any particular time and place. Sometimes the figure is missing altogether, leaving the viewer wondering what has happened to the vulnerable sleeper.

Surveys have revealed that one in every three women has experienced abuse during her lifetime. Some girls’ first experiences of sexual intercourse are coerced or violent, often with a member of the immediate family. When a family member is the offender, it can be difficult for the survivor to talk about or comprehend it. If the family is dependent on the offender, either financially or emotionally, the victim will often not disclose, taking on responsibility for the whole family at the expense of her own safety, well-being and mental health. Once incest is disclosed, responses vary from acceptance and support to disbelief, denial, shame, grief, anger and disgust. A survivor may feel responsible for disruption in the family.

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I’m Telling

By Donna Jenson

March 2012

My father told me, after every rape, “You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.” For a long time it worked. And then it didn’t. The progression of my telling began with a tearful whispered confession to a close and trusted friend twenty years after the abuse ended. Within a decade it had morphed into a telling that was like a dark woolen cloak I wore everywhere. I found myself telling almost anyone, anywhere, something to the tune of, ‘Hi, my name is Donna and I’m an incest survivor’.

Eventually my voyage from the maze of silence to the wide-open freedom of voice got me to transform my experience into a work of art. I took my muddy, stinky, slimy mountain of pain and confusion and turned it into a bold, sparkling offering of my evolution and clarity. I’ve written a one-woman play about surviving incest and my journey toward wholeness. Not only did I write it – I’m performing it every chance I get.  I’m telling like crazy. And boy oh boy does it feel good.

Once I decided to tell, by writing a play, words began flowing out of my pen like a mountain creek at the break of spring – fast and fresh. Some mornings I’d wake up an hour earlier than usual- no alarm clock, just my itchy fingers stirring me. 

It took me seven years to complete. Through this long creative process it helped tremendously to have supportive people around to tell me that what I was doing was brave, smart and needed. But all the well wishes in the world can’t eliminate all the fears. As fears emerged I wrote them out in my journal, like this one:

Once I get it all written and blocked and rehearsed then one of two things is going to happen. Either no one will show up or plenty will and none of them will be moved. They’ll leave the performance, heads slanted into each other talking about how they hope I didn’t quit my day job.

After the play was written I decided I wanted musical accompaniment. I found a remarkable master guitarist, John Sheldon. The soundtrack he wrote and performs with me weaves the play together with atmospheric sounds, bluesy tuneful melodies and his two powerful original songs, “A Way Through” and “It Wasn’t Your Fault” open and close the play

To begin and guide this journey of creation I wrote out my vision for the play in my journal before I actually started writing it:

I see the play describing some of the pivotal moments that got me going. I want to tell the audience about the things that took a long time and a lot of work to get me through all my pieces of the healing. I want to be funny and make people laugh. I want to be poignant and make people cry. I want to be inspiring and make people brave. Brave enough to speak – even if the only one they are speaking to is themselves.

I want them to consider the possibility that everyone can do something to break the silence and end the cycle of violence. I want to pick the right stories of my journey and string them together in just the right way so the audience will be uplifted by this subject instead of disturbed, or worse, more numb than when they came in the door.

I want to tell my story of surviving incest. I want the context to be more about my resurrection then his crimes. Tell all I’ve done to become my fullest self not just what he did to hurt me: to focus less on his destruction and more on my triumph.

I entitled the play What She Knows: One Woman’s Way Through Incest. I’ve been performing it since 2008 at conferences, colleges, community groups, a girls maximum security prison, and a residential school for boys, ages twenty down to eight years old who are juvenile sex offenders. Every time I perform it I heal a little bit more. The silence is breaking apart and my creation is weaving my spirit back together.

                                                For more information go to www.timetotell.org

To book a performance e-mail djenson@crocker.com

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The Rape – By Samantha Nelson – Copyright © 1999

Which one do I describe?

There were two. Two terrible times.

Do I describe both?

The pain and the shame each time?

It was cold and raining.

We were on a dark country road.

There were two of them and me.

Friends, going for a drive.

The car stops, and Billy gets out.

David starts touching me and undressing me.

I fight, but it’s no use.

I can’t seem to move.

He’s mean and cruel and rude.

He hurts me. I don’t know what he’s doing.

What is he doing? Is this sex?

I’ve never had it before, this is the first time.

He’s mad I’m not more cooperative.

He finishes and gets out of the car.

Billy gets in. He sees the pain on my face.

He’s to start it too, but he doesn’t.

He tells David to get back in.

David says to leave me.

Alone, in a puddle, on a dark country road.

I beg them to take me home. They give in.

Sore, hurt, ashamed and humiliated.

What happened to me? I’m 16.

I cannot tell. There’s no one to tell.

I’m not supposed to ride with any boys.

----------------------------------------------------

Time goes by, though not much I think.

A week or two, or maybe three?

An invitation to a party.

That should be fun, maybe.

Far from town, out in the woods,

Parents gone and home alone.

A party starts with three of them.

When I arrive I am the one.

How was I to know the party was me?

That no one else was coming, no one to save me?

Alcohol and music loud,

A dance or two they plead.

Some say I’m stupid, I don’t know.

Naïve, I think at worst.

Trusting in others with all my heart,

Not knowing their evil intent.

I drink a little, I’m too scared.

The party is no fun.

The dancing stops and one by one

They surround me in the room.

Come on, they say, let’s have some fun.

No, I really don’t think I should.

I should go now, really I should.

But let me go they won’t.

It is no fun – the three of them and me.

I struggle and plead and say no I don’t want to.

They say someone else liked it.

I don’t care, I don’t.

They won’t let me go.

They keep tugging and pulling on me.

A little tight? Grab the Vaseline.

That will make it right.

No, no, I say. I can’t believe it.

Why is this happening to me?

I’m not made to be this way.

Why is this they cannot see?

One, then the other, then the other.

No, I plead. Please stop.

They call it fun and one by one

They have their way with me.

I think it will stop, soon I hope.

But no, they are not through.

They all want to be inside of me.

And all at the same time, too.

How can this be? It is not possible.

My body cannot take it.

One in my mouth, the other there,

The third in a place I cannot tell.

I choke, I cry, I ask them why.

So-and-so likes it, you will too.

No, I don’t. Please stop it now.

No, we’ll just try another way.

On the bed, then in a chair.

They push and pull and drag.

Somehow they do it, I don’t believe it.

Finally they stop, I guess they’re through.

Come on, I’ll take you home.

That’s very kind of you.

No one to tell the story to,

No one to help me with the pain.

I hurt, I ache, I am ashamed.

Then the pain begins.

In school I double over.

Too much pain to bear.

No one knows what’s wrong.

My mom, she doesn’t care.

Bleeding, bleeding everywhere.

And I’ve hardly had a period.

My periods stopped when the weight came off.

I am only 75 pounds.

Pregnant? No. I never was.

Just destroyed inside myself.

A ruined life, no chance for more.

Children I can’t have.

Since the age of 16 I have known,

This is the life I have.

  

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A Life Worth Living by Heidi Jackman
Once a hollow, empty shell
An existence she knew all too well
Many times wanting to die
Wondered why bother even try?
Looking to fill, in her heart, a huge hole
Emotions too strong; heavy like coal
Please let this all end, she cries
A once burning light had gone dull in her eyes
Unable to process and handle her emotions
She decided to mask them with magic potions
The drinking went on for five years
Alcohol was used to drown her sorrows and fears
At the bar, spent so many drunken nights
With her inner demons, she constantly fights
One New Years Eve night so cold
Realizes that drinking is getting quite old
Seeks out a meeting desperate for a change
Her heart, mind, and life she'd need to rearrange
A girl who used to push people away
Accepts help and stays sober day by day
She meets people and builds friendships
It's suggested, for the first year, to stay out of new relationships
Ten long and hard months go by
Online one night meets and starts talking to a nice guy
They talk every night for two or three weeks
She can tell he is a good guy by the way he speaks
He's funny, kind, intelligent, and sweet; has it all
Loves it when he calls her "doll"
They go do karaoke on their first date
It was a lot of fun and went great
Takes her home and asks if it's alright
To give her a kiss goodnight
Their relationship blossoms and grows
He is perfect for her; this she knows
They fall in love and he buys her a ring
When he asks for her hand her heart begins to sing
A girl who though she would forever be alone
Has found someone, with whom, to build a life and home
Always loving, caring, and giving
Felt she finally had a life worth living

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