your usual boy
(awarded a distinction in 'The Write Stuff' competition and published in their anthology, 'The World in Rhyme', 2003)This is just your usual boy,
A red fire-truck, his favorite toy.
But when he thinks, it seems to be
That he's hiding something. You see,
He's too scared now to tell
The story of his private hell,
Of what goes on behind closed doors
And why he wishes he'd never been born.
Just ask him why, and he'll try
To hide everything with a lie.
But to know the truth, know this:
He may hide it, but something's amiss.
There's a scene that no one sees,
Of rage, of anger, of violent deeds.
He knows what it's like to bleed,
To cower on his hands and knees
And take what comes without protest,
Bear it, as he can best.
In his eyes, there's fear and pain
And if you look deep, you'll see the same
Things he sees, the dark room and
The scars put there by familiar hands.
The scared, small voice as it pleads,
"Daddy, Daddy, don't hurt me, please."
Some call it discipline,
Those actions carried out within
The four walls of a place called home,
But there's another name by which it's known,
Another name that people ignore,
Another name that's given for
The extreme actions on children used,
The torture that's called child abuse.