Wednesday, June 28, 2006

By Wanda Arhtington

As a child, I laid awake alone in my bed.
Wondering if this would be a night of peace or of dread?
I would hold my pillow to my chest oh so tight.
And pray no one would come through that door each night.

I was only a little gril, not even the age of ten.
Already I felt there is no way I could win.
Still I would try to fight with all my might.
Bursied and wounded, I made it through another night.

Lying still in the darkness, as quite as a mouse.
I would listen for every sound and moan in the house.
I prayed and cried alone each and every night,
For strength to endured the pain and to make things right.

It's hard to remember a life without fear.
I wondered the reason God put me down here.
I would try to potect the others littles at night.
To keep them safe, I knew this was right.

The protector I became, but no one saw
All the abuse and tourture behind those walls.
Broken hearts of children defeated and alone.
We were all just his trophies with no safety at home.

I look back and remember a little girl and childhood gone.
Did the pain and suferring really make me strong?
One thing I know now, is the abuse must stop right here.
Oh God,please let me help one child, not to feel this pain and fear.


wolfbaby said...

your awesome
don't forget it

jumpinginpuddles said...

(((((())))))) because we understood it and you wrote it so well thankyou.

Marj aka Thriver said...

My heart just aches for those precious, innocent children. Thanks for sharing, Wanda. And thanks for wanting to help other kids. You ARE awesome!

April_optimist said...

Wonderful poem. That's what kept me going, too--the determination to protect others. That's one thing I don't think most people know about survivors. They often seem to think we're weak--they don't realize the immense courage we had--courage just to survive and courage, often, to try to protect others as well. I love how your poem tells that story so well.

Emily said...

I don't know why but I find it harder to read poetry than I do survivor stories. Why is that?

Maybe because when i read it I imagine it is a letter to yourself as a girl.

I remember those nights and praying that the sound of footsteps up the stairs were not heading for me.

Thanks for writing it as I can only imagine how difficult it was.

And a note to April-optimist's view of the poem. I've never thought about it like that. I told to protect me baby sister. She's had the stable life and I had to suffer the fallout of telling. I've not thought that it was courage. In my head it always felt like desperation to protect. A negative emotion, rather than positive. But, you are right. It does take so much courage to stop it and prevent it happening to someone else.

Wanda's Wings said...

WB,JIP, Marj
Thanks for you long time support and encouragement.
Thanks for your work getting the information out about child abuse

april & emily

Thank you for your kindness and visiting my blog. Would like to invite you to contiune coming back.