She’s Hurt

At night she sits, with tears in her eyes.

Recounting the events, that play in her head.

But why does she cry?

How can it be that the love can be so painful.

Love was beautiful, love was ecstasy.

Not screams in the night or arguments, fights.

She relives her mothers life.

How did she get here, what did she do wrong?

She’s hurt.

Blood slowly trickles from her forehead,

As the tears stream down her face.

He was angry, She was wrong.

She’s hurt

Trying to think what to do differently,

trying to think how to make him happy.

She’s hurt.

Part of her wants to run,

Part of her wants to stay.

She’s hurt

“I’ll run to mom”

but she will tell her to stay.

“I’ll run to my friends.”

but they will take him away.

She’s hurt.

Not knowing that love is not suppose to hurt.

Not knowing that she can move on.

Not knowing she don’t need him by her side.

She’s hurt.

Not knowing her greatest weakness,

can be her greatest strength.

Not knowing she can get up and leave.

Not knowing that love is not lived that way.

Just knowing that she has to stay.

She’s hurt.

Knowing it’s going to happen again.

Knowing he’s not going to change.

Deep in her heart she wants that to be a lie.

Knowing she can potentially die.

Knowing she is alone.

Knowing that there is no love at home.

She’s hurt.

Her tears stream like rivers down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and blood.

She’s hurt.

Dear Lord if she only knew,

that you where by her side.

That your hand was stretched out waiting for her to take it.

That you could give her the strength to survive.

That she can stay alive. but…

She’s hurt.

Her strength is gone,

Her heart shattered to pieces.

The bruises, cover her body, cover her soul.

She is broken.

SHE IS HURT.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bastard

They say that a bastard is a person that has no father.

Well to me you are a bastard.

You are the kind of person that give men a bad name.

Dead beat, a dead beat dad.

A person who cares more about others than his children.

Slimy evil rat, who cowards in the presence of the law.

But when no is there comes out and contaminates everything around him.

Dog, I think I am insulting them.

Because even my dog takes better care of his pups then the likes of you.

Pathetic, a man who covets money and possesions

And does not care if his kids eat that day.

Coward, a man who can leave his children in the cold and rain.

While he covers himself with a warm blanket on a nice comfy bed.

A father is suppose to provide for his children,

be there for his children.

But you, with your actions, make me the most wonderful father that my kids will ever know.

 

The Judge

You sit there in the front, 

With your black robe,

gavel at the side.

I sit here facing you,

at your mercy.

You look at me like if I was the scum of the earth,

When the scum is sitting next to me.

You do not ask

you just point and judge.

You look at me with those piercing eyes.

And scuff at my defense.

You do not know me.

You do not know my children.

Don’t pretend to know that you have been faced with everything.

Because if you ever did.

You would see the true love of a mother for her children.

You would see who is lying your courtroom.

But you let your feelings get mixed up.

And you think that I am to blame.

Not caring for one moment what my kids want.

Not caring at all.

Do you have kids?

Or are you single and in need to get laid?

This so called man has children with other women.

I only have two kids and both by him.

This jerk abused me.

Cheated on me,

Offered my minor brother at the time, drugs.

He has a record.

I have none.

He was never around.

Time and time and again.

Until my daughter cried her last tear for her dad.

Until my son grew up well to know the truth.

And now you sit there,

And you do not want to hear the truth.

I refuse to go on a witch hunt. 

I refuse to focus on vengeance.

I just want to focus on the well being of my children.

I am not a perfect parent,

But I have been there for them always.

Yet you look at me with those piercing eyes,

and shake your bobble head.

You 50’s looking grandmother.

That acts like she never once was young.

That acts like she never made a mistake in her life.

That acts like a perfect parent.

You sit there shining with your black robe,

shaking your bobble head, 

And slamming down your gavel.

Judging unfairly,

Judging unjustly,

Giving him everything that has kept me alive,

Giving him my life wrapped up as a present,

For all the things he has done wrong.

Awarding him because he woke up one day and said,

“Today I think i want to be a father.”

After how long ten years.

After I continuously told him,

“they are young they need you right now”

Now after they are older and never have been with him.

Him, a person who had the nerve to tell his daughter

that she should not hug or kiss him because she was a growing up.

Him, the person who talked shit to his son because he came to his sisters defense.

He is the great father. 

He deserve them.

I don’t understand. 

YOU, WITH YOUR BLACK ROBE, YOUR BEADY EYES, YOUR BOBBLE HEAD

WITH YOUR GAVEL AT YOUR SIDE,

THE JUDGE,

MY EXECUTIONER.

 

 

 

Good Father “BAD MOTHER”

How can you call yourself an father? I often ask myself that question.

Let’s take a look. A FATHER is a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider.

My definition of a FATHER is the same. Someone who has sacrificed himself and took it upon himself to provide to protect a family or as they say other people.

But you, you pound yourself in the chest like a very bad cheap imitation of Tarzan.  And you call yourself a FATHER.

How can you? How can you imitate or try to impersonate something that you are not.

Yet you feel the urge to scream and shout that you are a FATHER.

How can you live with yourself? I often wonder.

You in your nice little truck with your impeccable clothes and wallet full of money.

You even have the audacity to point your dirty nasty little finger down at me and say “BAD MOTHER!”

Where were you when your children where hungry?

Where were you when they did not have a roof over their heads?

Where were you when your son was in the hospital?

You did not even care.

But you point that little dirty stinking finger down my nose and say “BAD MOTHER“.

When have you shed a tear because you did not know what you where going to feed your kids?

When did you shed a tear because you did not know were you where going to sleep that night?

WAIT A MINUTE YOU DID SHED A TEAR!

And I recall it so clearly now.

You shed several tears when the DMV took away your drivers licence because you did not pay child support!

Yet my uncold heart felt pitty for you and removed that order so would get back on your feet for the well being of the children.

Yet you continued.

BAD MOTHER.”

Even now the courts are involved.

And that pansy little judge from the late 60’s sat on that chair and with her gavel ruled “BAD MOTHER“.

Sometimes this little saying gets under my skin and I begin to think “BAD MOTHER.”

Oh man what am I thinking? “HORRIBLE MOTHER.”

I break down in tears. How could I had been such a horrible mother?

Father you say. Bullshit I say.

BAD MOTHER” you say. “DAMN RIGHT” I say.

Those tears reminded me of the necessity of having to feed my, MY, kids.

Having to come up with money because I could not hold a steady job.

Not because I was lazy but because I had no one to fall back on child care.

No one to fall back on,  to help me out with the necessity of young toddlers.

That woman that once gave into the wrong ways of life, now clean and fighting for the most valuable people in her life.

Where were you when I said “I am a BAD MOTHER” !

Where were you when I told you to give them a better life.

You had the nerve to point that little finger down my nose and say,

“The children belong with THE MOTHER.”

All by myself. And yes I might agree now that everyone seems to label me as a “BAD MOTHER.”

“I AM A BAD MOTHER,  BUT I MAKE ONE HELL OF A FATHER.”

AAR.