Poem repost
Since I had came across quite a few child abuse cases in the news recently, I think it would be appropriate to repost the poem I had wrote about a year ago, for which it generated quite a hype back then. I dont know why i would want to repost it, maybe its just that I am too tired of this beautiful world.
Butterfly scent, muddy pool,
Barbie doll and strawberry lollipop,
Sinful lust, teary eyes,
Bruised arm and tainted sheet.
Other kids have their daddy’s sing lullaby,
I have my daddy touching me and my baby,
It starts in a room so gloomy,
And ends with tears and oh, “I am so sorry’
It’s ok, daddy loves me,
He pushed me, hit me, curse me and r*** me,
It’s ok, daddy just has a bad day,
Then he did it again and again,
It’s ok, it’s really ok.
My panty is painted with blood,
And yet everything still has to be ok.
Neither those who knows cares,
Mommy would just turn away and close the door,
I beg him to stop,
I beg her for help,
I said ‘Please daddy, dont’ so many times,
That my tougue starts to bleed and melt,
Yet I was left starving for hope,
Too much shame were left to be felt,
I have always said to myself,
Maybe he will stop when I grow up,
He did, when he found Brenda,
She was just 6, my daughter,
Just like me, blue eyes blue,
Still too innocent to understand,
what her daddy was doing to her is wrong,
My daughter father is my father,
And my mother is my mother and her stepmother,
Even Einstein would be confused by the relativity,
and I am close to the edge of lunaticity,
For the love of God, she’s already a sick child
Born with homogenous genes from an incentous sin,
And now she is a sick child with post-traumatic disorder,
Brought down to earth into the hands of savage perversion,
I have to kill him,
I want to kill him,
I want to kill them all,
41 stabs, daddy laid on the floor,
Then I slit mom’s throat,
Standing upon the pool of blood,
I laughed,
then I cried.
Flower scent, grass playground,
4 white walls and countless stares,
Crime scene, 155 years,
Tired eyes and tainted sheet.
I dream of a home,
Where daddy sings lullaby,
and mommy makes pancakes,
A home where,
Daddy’s hand is to wipe my tears,
A home where,
I can never be too afraid to keep my room unlock,
A home where,
Daddy only comes into my room late at night to make sure I put my blanket on,
A home where,
The love of parenthood doesnt bend so far.
A home I can only dream of behind the bar.
© Alvin Woon
Crafted on 15th February 2004*Inspired by a true story. Subject’s name has been changed
