Tag: sexual abuse

domestic abuse

Sins of the Father

carolyncordon

The Bible is a tricky thing, with ideas

going first one way, and then another,

but Molly felt deep the sins of her father

visited upon her, a child, who dared, once

to smile in his presence, and then no more.

 

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This is Molly, who dared once, and learned

a smile is seen as a challenge, to the guilty one,

and a challenge not put down, may rise again.

Molly’s sin of smiling was small, compared

to the sins of her father, but he won, and she lost.

 

He won, over his daughter’s sense of her own self.

She lost trust, and faith in the idea of her worth.

Molly lost her mother, her father, and her virginity.

She lost, if she ever even had, parental love,

and lost her smile, slapped from her face. Forever?

 

Will Molly, can Molly, ever find her smile again?

Will anything in her life, ever again seem something

to be smiled at, even carefully? Or, as with chasteness,

is a lost smile something, never to get back again,

and so Molly remain forever damaged, broken?

 

 

Molly, oh Molly please seek help, there are resources out there to help you, and others like you. Domestic abuse, domestic violence, sexual abuse, child abuse, child sexual abuse, these are crimes, and the perpetrators should be charged and dealt with via the court system. No-one adult of child, should feel unsafe in their own home.

 

poetry

Thoughts about women and men …

carolyncordon

This poem came from thoughts about the lives of young women, and memories of my life, way back before I stepped right away from that “mating game”. I found the man I trusted enough to want to marry, and we have worked at being married for many, many years now, and still married, 33 years later.

It’s a relief now, to be able to not worry about how things may go after a night out, whether to take the offer of a lift home, hoping it will be safe, or whether the bus might be a better choice, though I’d be later home.

There are rules, but not everyone goes by them and the more alcohol is involved, the less attention is paid to those rules. Going out at night shouldn’t mean anything more than simply wanting to go out at night. And what you wear is your business, and shouldn’t be read as making a statement, not at all.

Women dress up for themselves, for their friends, because it makes a night feel special, and yes, perhaps to attract male attention, but not always. Never assume anything about a women, because all are individuals, and do different things for a variety of different reasons …

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I was out earlier today, so began writing this poem on my mobile phone, then my phone ran out of charge … I’d written enough though, that I had the core of what I wanted to write, so even though I finished the poem just now, many hours after starting it, it still holds to the ideas I wanted to write about.

I am so glad that I no longer have to think about the things in this poem, and I certainly wish no-one at all ever have to think about them, and that going out was safe for everyone. We are a long, long way away from that though …

And though I say I’m glad I no longer have to think about these things, the simple fact of being a woman, being out alone at night could make me a target for abuse from a rapist, it’s a simple, and nasty fact of life. It makes me sick in my mind that it’s so, but I’m intelligent and cluey enough to see the reality of it all.

Sometimes I think gelding all men may be the way to go. Geldings cause far less trouble than stallions … Obviously I don’t actually mean that, but …

15 February assumption
Don’t Make an Ass out of U or Me
Not all holes are in need of filling,
no matter what you think, blokes –
an enthusiastic “Yes!” means she’s willing
otherwise they’re illegal pokes.
Assumptions made, chances taken,
his wrong move, and you’re a loser,
trust betrayed, love forsaken.
Next time remember, she’s the chooser …
‘Yes’, is only three small letters,
but they’re oh, such important ones
whether sporting stars or business go-getters,
get it wrong, you’re in trouble – tons!
It may seem to men, women hold the reins
about these things, but that’s not true –
boyfriend or rapist? The question attains
a scary power over you –
when a simple meet up, may lead to more
and a woman only wants a friend,
but ugly times, may become the score –
casual dating? Not when rape is the end …
Is it a nun’s life the choice you’ll have to take?
No going out, ‘cos you no longer dare,
don’t go out and party, stay home and bake,
to keep safe out of mating game glare …
poetry, writing exercise

Covering Same Issues

carolyncordon

With these writing prompts, that I write on every new day, I don’t know at the the start which direction my muse may take me. But the direction I headed straight away today, was to a place I’ve been before. Thoughts on ‘Hidden’ things have been a huge theme for my creative writing, and have brought good results, of various types, financial, therapeutic, and for the broader community too.

I have written more about the kind of thing I write about in today’s poem, on another of my blog, this one. I created that blog to help with promoting my poetry collection of the same name.

I don’t think I need to go to much further here now though, the poem I wrote for today, which is Day 6 of #poemadayfeb, will tell the story. I have been very much enjoying being involved with this daily poetry writing idea, & I hope I definitely stick with it to the rest of February, and perhaps beyond, using writing prompts from somewhere else. I have a box of writing prompts hidden away somewhere, and I have plenty of time to find them …

 

So here it is, my poem for this sixth day of February:

 

Finally Healing

 

It hurt so much, you kept it hidden,

your shame at what you’d done,

& knowing doing that was wrong.

 

But talk of ‘love’, was always there –

on radio, tv, movies, ever present,

& ‘love’ was what he’d  claimed …

 

But love in childhood isn’t that,

love for a child is pure & sweet,

what he did to you, wasn’t pure.

 

You held your story close inside,

until clarity & truth arrived at last –

with realisation fault wasn’t yours.

 

The adult, he was to blame for this,

you didn’t do it, it was done to you –

a child – the fault, all of it, was his.

 

He died alone, his crime unknown

except by other victims, perhaps.

& you’re all alive, your secrets told

 

& in telling, finding needed peace,

forgiving yourself, confident now

to tell your truth, & in telling, heal

Uncategorized

My First Poetry Collection

carolyncordon

I wrote my first poem that gained acclaim back when I was in my early years of High School I don’t actually remember which year it was, but I was around thirteen I think. It was History class, and we had to do a project on a particular historical place. I don’t remember which place it was, but it was in Europe, in the olden days, and I’m almost certain it started with the letter ‘C’. It may have been Carthage. It may have been somewhere else entirely.

And when I say ‘gained acclaim’, I mean my mother liked the poem and I suspect I got a good mark for the project, enough to impress my mum. Anyway, the important thing is that I learned that poems can impress people, if they are good enough. I didn’t immediately start penning more poetry to attract the interest of others, because life especially when you’re at school, and then work, life takes over many creative aspirations, giving way to financial ones.

But I did get back into writing poetry, particularly after I quit work, and became a ‘stay-at-home mum’. Being stuck at home with this new creature in my life meant I was home, with not much to do beyond caring for this new baby, as well as the dogs we had. It was a whole new world, as I quickly realised having a human baby was not the same as having puppies. Some of the processes are similar, but the care and love is so much deeper when there is your child involved.

baby in blue blanket
Photo by Alicia on Pexels.com

I’d gone from being a worker, five days a week, travelling with my husband from our home in a rural area, to the office job in the city of Adelaide, our state’s capital. In the early times of being a mother, I had no car, and I have to say, I felt lonely, even with that baby present 24/7. There was some post natal depression happening, and I was certainly not feeling like a person who was capable of doing anything that deserved public acclaim.

To find some sense of worth, I eventually began a TAFE course – the Advanced Diploma of Professional Writing. I enjoyed this, going out at night to classes, where there was no child depending on me for everything, and I could talk about writing in its many forms, rather than talking about nappy changes … It was a blissful ‘grown up’ thing to do, finally.

I never finished that TAFE course, but I had begun doing many more interesting things relating to writing, in particular poetry. I didn’t feel I needed more information, although, in retrospect, I could have been wrong to thing I was fine. I’m OK with that idea though, and will just do my best to keep on taking up learning opportunities as they come along.

Anyway, back to my first poetry collection. This collection, titled “damage children, Precious Gems”, deals with extremely personal things in my life. I was sexually abused as a child, and then teen, and probably, as an adult too. Being a woman, sexual abuse is always a possibility. I used the writing of this poetry collection as a form of informal therapy, and am glad I have found an audience of people who have also been or still are, victims of sexual abuse. I set up a blog with the same title as this poetry collection, where I look at abuse, in particular sexual abuse, and many things related to it.

It sounds like a gruesome thing, I know, but my collection follows a line from terrible, to good, or even excellent. I was a victim, but I am now thriving in my life. Being able to say that means much to me. I am happily married, have a child who is a fine person, and my life is a good one. Not bad, for a person who went through abuse from a person who was supposed to be ‘a friend of the family’.

The writing of this poetry collection has been a healing thing, a therapeutic thing, and I firmly believe in the idea of therapeutic writing. It can happen in an informal way, as in my case, initially, or it can happen in a more formal way, but however it is, it can be a  healing thing, for sure. I have a strong interest in this form of writing.

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Being able to find myself in this position is a wonderful thing, a liberating thing, and I hope my words in this first collection can help many more people who are living troubled lives because of abuse. Nobody deserves this, no-one ever. If you are struggling with abuse in your life, I urge you to seek assistance from those who can help. Your doctor, trusted person, authorities, whoever, there are many people whose task it is to help people …

There are many organisations here who can help, please go to these people if you need them. Nobody deserves to live in fear of abuse, and anyone who has been abused deserves to get help when they need it.