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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: I Was Six Years Olddots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: trynfinity
    ASL Info:    38/f/California
    Elite Ratio:    4.43 - 149/145/91
    Words: 204
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 426
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1233



    Description:
       For those children who have no voice, who have gone unheard.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsI Was Six Years Olddots
    -------------------------------------------


    I Was Six Years Old
    (in an effort to stop child abuse)

    I don't have a mommy
    who tucks me in at night.
    Or a daddy who will teach me
    to be strong or how to fight.
    They don't hug and kiss me
    or buy me cookies from the store.
    I don't even have a bed
    I sleep there on the floor.
    Sometimes I get a blanket
    never if I ask.
    Most times i'm really really quiet
    if not they get mad.
    No one sees my bruises
    no one sees my tears.
    If they do I get in trouble
    that's my biggest ever fear.
    I know one day they'll kill me
    they will hit me way too hard.
    They won't stop till i'm not breathing
    they'll burry me out back in the yard.

    I was six years old if you find this,the last thing I heard my mommy say
    I was bad and I was worthless
    no one would notice me gone anyway.
    NO one saw my bruises
    No one hears my cries.
    No one came to save me.
    I GUESS MY MOMMY WAS RIGHT-!


    Everyone has a voice, can we quiet ourselves to listen.

    Heather KemperFebruary14,2011




    Submitted on 2011-03-10 15:41:07     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      i like the voice in this...very well done...from the pen of an adult...this feels exactly like how a 6 year old would express the trauma of this situation..

    one thing ..it's "bury"

    but what a poignant line.."bury me in the back yard" like a pet...

    reminds me of "the Sandbox" by edward albee...

    the grandma who was taken off her farm by the daughter and her husband, given a blanket and her very own dish...just like a dog...

    a really good treatment of a very sensitive issue here, and you really make us feel what goes inside the 6 year old mind when this happens...the confusion the fear...and looking back after death...still confused..why didn't mom stop him?
    how could this happen? trying to come to terms, almost, rather than wanting to stay angry...
    that takes so much energy.

    wow, this poem got me wound up..sorry..

    just thoughts

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-03-10 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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