Poems and Stories

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Poems and Stories from Victims of Crime

These poems and stories are from actual victims. 

Misty (Poem written by her 14 year old sister)

Misty

My name is Misty

I am but three

My eyes are swollen,

I can not see.

I mustn't be bad

That lesson I've learned

For I am punished with cigarette burns.

I have to be right I can not be wrong

For I am locked up all week long.

When I wake up

I'm all alone

The house is dark

My parents aren't home.

Deep inside I feel so bad

For I am hated by my Mom and Dad

I'm just an expensive joke

They need the money

 For speed and coke.

An accident, yes

That is their word

Countless times

That phrase I've heard

Another burn I cannot endure

A lot of troubleI am sure

Be quiet nowI hear a car

My Dad is homeFrom Charlie's Bar

I hear him cuss

My name he calls

I squeeze against

The dirty walls

Oh Dear God

It is too late

His face is turning to hate

I feel the pain again and again

Oh, please Lord, let it end.

My name is Misty

I was but three

For last night

My father murdered me

(Written by the 14 year old sister of Misty)

ANOTHER WOMAN

Another Woman 

Today another woman died

and not on a foreign field

and not with a rifle strapped to her backand

not with a large defense of tanks

rumbling and rolling behind her. 

She died without CNN covering her war.

She died without talk of intelligent bombs

And strategic targets.

The target was simply her face, her back

her pregnant belly. 

The target was her precious flesh

that was once composed like music

in her mother’s body and sungin the anthem of birth. 

The target was this life

that had lived its own dear wildness,

had been loved and not loved,

had danced and not danced. 

A life like yours or mine

that had stumbled upfrom the beginning

and had learned to walk, and had learned to read,

and had learned to sing. 

Another woman died today,

not far from where you live;

Just there, next door where the tall light

falls across the pavement. 

Just there, a few steps

awaywhere you’ve often heard shouting,

another woman died today. 

She was the same girl her mother used to kiss;

the same child you dreamed

beside in school.

The same baby her parents

walked in the night withand listened and listened and listened

For her cries even while they slept. 

And someone has confused his rage

With this woman’s only life

-Carol Geneya Kaplan

 

THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD

Through the Eyes of a Child

Did I do something wrong

to make you lose control?

Anger so strong or do you even know?

that when you come home

I want to run and hide

The pain is so deep

that i keep it inside

I'm not the same

because of you

Always afraid of what you'll do

If only you could see

yourself through my eyes

You’d know why (I’m

dying inside)

Sometimes I need a firm, but gentle hand

Someone who cares

and understands

that I am still learning

But I just can’t take this

abuse, from you

There is no excuse

I’m not the same

because of you

Always afraid of what you'll do

If only you could see

yourself through my eyes

You’d know why (I’m

dying inside)

This is no way to live if

you try to change I’ll try

to forgive.

From: CHANCE

Changing How Adults

Nurture Children’s Egos

 

HE RAPED MY BODY,

MY DIGNITY, MY SPIRIT
copyright © NMD 1999

From his position of trust
his hands, his body, his violence
penetrated me
He held me down
forced upon me
his power, his rage, his aggression.

I hid the bruises
dulled the physical pain
he made me insignificant
filled with shame.
I tried to heal him
still he raped my body, my dignity,
my Spirit.

I'm left alone
hurting, nightmares, bleeding
fearing his possession.