About love.
As if
It was a hyperbole
Of our souls.
In telling children
We will always
Love them.
No matter
What.
And yet
For many children
They have nothing left.
But
This flimsy claim
To hang onto.
As they're tortured
And abused
At the hands
Of their parents.
Only guilty
Of being born
Different.
Whether
The wrong gender
Or sexuality.
All the while
Being told
Their punishment is
A sign of love.
Blaming themselves
For not being
Good enough.
Or should have
Done things
Only differently
The first time.
When
The real fault lies
With the adults.
Leaving the child
To pay
The most horrible price
Their life.
Therisa © 2016
7 comments:
Perfectly said, my friend and, you may note, absolutely perfect for the prompt at Midweek Motif - Voice. A voice that needs to be heard.
Sorry, the prompt is Stigma, equally appropriate for this important poem.
You said it well here--"As if
It was a hyperbole
Of our souls."
I will not soon forget that image of love, especially love that falls short in dangerous and destructive ways. Thank you. Good to see you, too.
Each of us once children have our own journey to take in life that is ours alone to choose. If you do no one harm the road you take should be with without obstacles.
Beautifully written, Therisa ❤️
Yup, you have expressed it so well!! So many are treated so poorly, through NO fault of their own.
It is horrifying that such stigma still exists!
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