Her mother beats her
When no one is looking
Right after she paints her
Little nails fuchsia
Her tiny frame holds the weight
Of hate and some sense of
Obligitory hope. She loves
To be loved but can look
You in the eye and lie
Her tiny doll face
framing glassy coal eyes
She bears the weight
Of cards stacked firmly
Against her, she knows
Her curse words inside
Out but finds it difficult
To recite the Bible.
She is seven and lost
She is seven and
She is seven
She is
She
3 comments:
I love this poem. So sad, but true. I believe there is always hope. I came from an abusive household, and wrote this poem about a phenomenon i call "Second Hand Pain." I know what it is to know those curse words inside out, and the rage behind them. It's a dream of mine to somehow help these children.
Two generations, maybe more
Dealt the second-hand pain.
Familiar words that fell like blows
on innocent infant ears.
Till enough was enough
and the cycle was broken,
forgiveness doled out
and healing began for some.
But there are those tonight
I’m know
who only dream of escape,
Their unseen wounds
still fresh in their tiny hearts.
Too many, their own flesh
never bruised,
who helplessly watch
another’s spirit broken again and again.
Who lie awake, not missing a word
Just in case someone is hurt,
Waiting perhaps to comfort
When the battle is done.
Perhaps sheltering a sibling
from the war in the next room.
Emerging, perhaps, to intervene
Only to be told once again
“This has nothing to do with you.”
All too many who will fall asleep in tears
Praying the offender will leave
Or worse, hoping to be hit,
So someone will care.
Too many invisible victims
will venture to school in the morning
With painted smiles, perfect students
Walking past the counselor’s door
As if they are whole.
Maybe afraid, maybe ashamed
Or maybe convinced
they really don’t matter after all.
Too many watching
The afternoon clock with dread
Fearing what the evening may hold.
The invisible do not speak,
But I know who they are.
To pretend they don’t exist
Would be unforgivable.
Wow, Jen. The work you all are doing every Monday night is so needed and has the potential to completely change lives. I pray God gives you strength to hear the hard stories.
The hard stories are hard but I know that the job of a place like Celebration Station is to simply remind every child they are special and loved by us and Jesus every Monday night. Thats all we can do but it can mean a lot. Still, we had 30 kids Monday night and it was wild and hard and emotionally challenging.
What your parents started at FBB is now a pics and part of my whole family. So grateful for what they did!!
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