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    podiumdavis
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

I called him Daddy - 1. I called him Daddy

Although this experience never happened to me. I was abused, sexually, as a child and I know these feelings deep down. Please don't be offended by my sharing my pains, my hurts, my triumps over evil. There is always hope. And I love you all.

Once upon time I called him Daddy

He was supposed to take care of me.

May it be, I’d be happy and fulfilling so.

 

It all started with a game. I was five, more than merely alive.

I was the spunk in the funk that made every heartbeat.

Cute, handsome, and proudly strong and mighty.

 

‘Run around naked if you want son.’ It all had started.

It was a farce and a cause for such serious alarms.

How was I to know that someone that was to love me so, would take it further, I was too young to know.

 

I was five, more than merely alive.

I was the spunk in the funk that made every heartbeat.

I would bring a smile, my silliness made it all worthwhile.

Or, so I’d hear from my dear mom.

 

On a cold December night, asleep in my bed, barely awake, and barely dead.

A cold hand upon my shoulder, a brush against my head, and an ‘I love you son,’ echoed into my ear, and throughout my head.

I can only say that I was terrified that the boogieman had come.

 

Again, I was only five, and merely alive.

I was the spunk in the funk that made every heartbeat.

 

In the darkness I swore I heard a whimper.

It stuck in the air, deep and quick, more like a dog gasping for air.

My pants removed, quickly and swift, with a sharp pain in my rear to swiftly persist.

I can only gasp, and cry out of fear.

 

When his ass was finished, he spoke into my ear. “You tell no one, no one ever, I’ll hurt your mom, and then I’ll hurt you.”

 

I was only five, and merely alive.

I was the spunk in the funk that made every heartbeat.

How was I to know that the one that was to love me so, would do these things just to hurt me.

 

Now I’m eighteen and I hate his ass so. Many years of abuses and now I’m a hallow shell.

To say it never hurt, would ultimately be a lie.

I would rather die.

But because of his sick hatred, his evil intentions, I’ll live this life for every best intention.

 

I’ll teach, and I’ll pray, and I’ll live this life knowing that he was the evilest fucker to ever live.

I was only five, and merely alive.

I was the spunk in the funk that made every heartbeat.

And because of that sick fuck. I’ll live, pray, and know that this life is worth living.

 

Today, tomorrow, forever morrow. I’ll have my vengeance.

Although this experience never happened to me. I was abused, sexually, as a child and I know these feelings deep down. Please don't be offended by my sharing my pains, my hurts, my triumps over evil. There is always hope. And I love you all.
Copyright © 2013 podiumdavis; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 6
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

On 03/23/2013 07:12 AM, Andy78 said:
I usually don't venture into poetry (don't write it, don't read it, don't get it), but that was so moving.
I'm glad I could give you a touch of poetry.. :) I personally consider myself a slam poet. Not one that has to rhyme every second word. I'm a huge fan of Shane Koyczan. I think you'd be touched by this... http://www.shanekoyczan.com/2013/03/08/my-ted-talk-is-live-watch-it-here/
On 03/23/2013 12:40 AM, Lisa said:
Wow Andrew, what a moving poem. So, so sad that this happens every day. Thank you for sharing.
It does happen everyday, unfortunately. But not to me anymore. But for all those powerless souls, I wish I reach out, grab them all, hug them and tell them it get's better. Bring them to safety, bring them hope. This is how I cope. :)
On 03/22/2013 10:59 AM, K.C. said:
Very powerful words. As a survivor of childhood rape, I know the pain, anger, and scars that never leave....even years later. Thank you for sharing. **Hugs**
I'm glad that my words can bring life to another. It's an honor for me, to share my life, and how I see it. I'm sorry you went through this as well. I hope your wounds have healed. :*(
On 03/23/2013 10:15 AM, Luc Rosen said:
I liked this poem. It was very blatant and honest. These lines, although simple, I thought were the most powerful:

"When his ass was finished, he spoke into my ear. “You tell no one, no one ever, I’ll hurt your mom, and then I’ll hurt you.""

Blatant and honest is key; I believe. I always, no matter what I'm doing, will speak from my heart. That one line is indeed powerful, and one of shame, and fear. How can one say that while knowingly that this will cause scars beyond belief? Maybe they don't think and that's how they get by. The sick fucks!
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