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.









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?


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.


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.”