What makes him hit me? What makes him think that it is okay? Try living your life in fear Worrying that one day You will say something So right that it is wrong And then be attacked for it. Or how about praying at night, Praying that his day at work went well So he will not come home And punch my sisters and me Just because he could not punch himself. In my dreams, I see his face And I shiver. Then I wake up, To see his fist And I ache. It makes me wonder, What the hell is wrong with me? Something in me cannot hate him, Cannot hate him for hitting me. And it certainly cannot stop me from loving him Even though every ounce of me wants to. And how does my mom allow him, Allow this man To hit her little girls? Her little girls who used to wear dresses with flowers, Pink bows in their hair, And dance and twirl alone to music That only they could hear, These girls that she loved so much. Why does this happen to my family? I dream of having a dad that I could come home to Who would want to see me And hold me As though he had not seen me in years. It is probably the only thing that I can never have. My friends try to understand, But honestly, How can they? They will never know my secrets, My hidden box filled with these secrets, Which I try to open. I try to let them see But the door creaks When it opens. They can never be aware of it. I will not bring it up because I am aware. I know they cannot hear it, And I do not hate them for that. I am used to that. And that is the worst part… I am used to it. I am used to being violated – No one should ever get used to that. Abuse is wrong, Abusers are wrong, And here I am, Feeling bad for my dad. He has problems, Problems I know he has And yet the mirror lies to him. And I am forced to feel the scars from his problems Every day of my life. And yet he cannot see that. Or maybe he just does not want to. He does not want to see what he does, What he is doing to us – To the ones he is supposed to protect. That is the irony of it. I need someone to protect me from him. I hold my breath, As he walks through the door. I pray for the day When some man, some hero, Will walk through that same door, A man with strong hands And a strong heart Who sees me With all my imperfections And loves me for them. But instead, There he is – Ashamed to call him dad – Singling out my imperfections Calling me things – From a mouth desperately needing To be washed out with soap – Horrible and nasty things, Leaving me feeling dirty and worthless. These same words I hear Every day at school, Being tossed around Without any idea of what they really mean. And it stings, For these who say those words, Jest at scars That never felt a wound. Nobody wants to be lonely. I know for the reason that I am so tired of being lonely. I am starting to go crazy, I need him to change, I need to change. I have to find the strength, The strength to search out help for myself Because now I am realizing That if he will not get help, I have to. I have cried out all the tears I can. I am scared of what is going to happen But I know something must be done. Please do not think less of me Or hate me, dad. Since I do not hate you. I am doing this to show I care Because I love you.
Reason for writing:
One of my best friends was abused, and I was there to see her, to cry with her, and to wish I could make it stop. So maybe I can reach someone so something can be done to stop the abuse. I, in no way, know how it feels, but I wanted to reach my friend to show her I cared for her and was there for her. I hope it brings some comfort to those who feel this pain everyday.
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Birth sign: Scorpio
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