I wrote this poem a few years back. It, in all of its graphic interpretation, is actually an ode to the millions of parents whose children have been victimized through sexual molestation, who for years had no earthly idea that it was happening, until one day the truth rears its ugly head. It is a harsh reality for many parents who emotionally torture themselves by feeling guilty for not being able to keep it from happening and not knowing all the while:
Spots
(for the mothers who didn’t know)
weep
grasping the countless times
of purity stolen
visions of the forcing pupil
down
my throat
and fingers between
my cheeks
I am no longer a child
I am a slave
weep
grasping the endless moments
of humility endured
the weight on
my back
greasy hands
clasp my waist
the pain
mental
I am no longer a child
I am a slave
my jaw frozen with fear
as my underwear hangs
speechless
on the line
drying
as my mother wonders
and screams
why?
I am only a child
I am not a slave
weep
grasping her dress-tail
she asks God questions
through a thousand
tears
and kills herself
with sorrow
WYLD STYLZ
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