Cry Me A River

 

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We huddled in corners, arms wrapped around one another.

wiping each others tears watching from the shadows.

Praying that angels would swoop down and takes us to a

better place, away from this house, where our tiny hearts

ached for our mother’s safety.

 

On a good day there was Chinese food brought home

and shared and peace hung about for a little while until

the liquor bottles were brought out.

 

Then like the calm before the storm he erupted from

the darkness taking hold and locking us up as prisoners

to witness the cruelty and abuse forced upon us.

 

Like a bull on the charge he would froth at the mouth,

breaking and smashing things all over the house.

He cussed and shook his fists and smashed things

about, while we children huddled under beds

afraid to come out.

 

Mother would pour another round trying to

appease him by drinking as his companion.

She thought she knew him, but was in denial,

a captive by his hypnotic and infamous reputation.

 

He would scream at her and run down her past

and threaten to kill us all if we didn’t accept him at last.

I vowed to kill him when I grew up from being a lad,

he saw the anger in my eyes and didn’t care because

he knew I was just that a lad.

 

But vengeance was mine and the clock struck the

time when I was nineteen and he was much older,

he felt my anger and barely survived in a hospital

where nobody cared if he lived or died.

 

So cry me a river, I never forgot and spit on his

grave for what he had wrought where to Hell he

was lowered to serve his time for the sins he

committed wreaking havoc on us lot.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore 2013. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 


Comments

Cry Me A River — 14 Comments

    • Thank you Susan for stopping by to my new site. I’ve been away for awhile from the Hubs, but making my way back. Yes indeed those were some
      of the most difficult times of my young life. I survived, he didn’t.

  1. This is a nightmare you carry in your heart. No doubt a tough existnece to survive. You are proof of survival; continue to tell your tale.

    • Yes Mike is was certainly all of that my friend. We and my sibblings lived in terror most nights when this man came home
      to do the things he did to my mother especially. I must mentally abused, never physically, but what is worst? A survior I’ve
      been all my life, left me me scars however that have never really healed. Peace and blessing to you Mike.

  2. This is such a sad, touvhing poem. I grew up in alcoholism but my father wasn’t violent. I think my experiences run somewhat along this line, but it was my children that feared and it wae a awful time. I finally got us away and he was our of our lives. Thank the good Lord for the good years that followed. Your words are very touching and make me sad to remember the misery of life at that time. Obviously, your poetry is wonderful and touches the heart.

    • Hello Pam, yes those were terrible years I lived through as a young boy. My mother was abused badly by this beast. The children were abused mentally, although he molested one of my sisters and I’m certain that affected her later in life. He is dead now and I am thankful for that, he died by the hand of another inmate who strangled him. Yes alcohol is a dangerous stimulant and many overdose on it. My mother, father and her eventual live in boyfriend thrived on alcohol and lived and fought about their past, causing much pain to me and my siblings listening to them every night and always on the run with my mother as she fled from his anger and towed us along. Thank you Pam for stopping by and I pray you are healed.

  3. Speechless…I am speechless reading this very powerful piece Vincent. You have such an admirable courage and talent in expressing thoughts so eloquently as this poem despite the sadness it speaks of. You are a brave warrior! Congratulations on this new website. Love from the sky~CrisSp

    • Thank you CrisSp from the sky and yonder. Yes it was a very sad life, full of mental abuse and always on the run with our mother, not knowing where we would sleep next. He drove us from the flat with his brutality towards my dear mother, she took the brunt of the abuse both physically and mentally. They both fought about the past with alcohol their companions and courage. My siblings and I were often in tears and hiding in secret places to avoid them both. I am thankful that I was able to free my mother of this demon and she lived a happier life with a man she met who knew how to love and respect her. RIP mother, you went to Hell and back. Peace and blessings and safety in the skys my poet. hugs

  4. Vincent, unfortunately I can completely relate to your experience. I’ve seen many others like you and me who didn’t survive the ordeal so well. And even now, a man in my fifties, I still battle mental scars. I believe that over all it is what has made me a better writer. I wrote a poem on hubpages titled, Roughly Inscribed, that is an expression of my experience. I found this on Facebook but did not want to leave this comment there because I am not trying to self promote or distract from you’re piece. I was aware that from the comments that I recieved that a lot of people did not quite get where I was coming from.your piece is very powerful and to the point. I applaud you for being able to relate your story and to do it so well. I have been seeing your name lately and intend to read more of your work. Happy writing and hope to read you again! Wayne…

    • Wayne I thank you for entering my site and sharing with me your experiences. As you have read, I bare my soul in most of my scribes, this one especially hits close to the bone. Yes I agree many of us did not fare so well as we became adults. They often say its a viscious cycle, abuse. I have never been an abuser but unfortunately for me, two failed marriages. I’ve chosen to live my life out alone, since I don’t seem capable of sharing it with the opposite sex any longer. I love them dearly but this poet falls between the cracks at times. I know you will understand what I am saying here. When I read others work of abuse I can relate as I lived it as well. It may have not been physical, however mental abuse can be just as demeaning. I will go in to read your piece, “Roughly Inscribed” and leave my comment. I want to thank you for sharing this with us all, opening up for me has been rewarding for my spirit and soul. Peace and blessings I send to you this day my friend and may you find a way to let those scars fade as I have endeavoured to do, yet still working on them.

  5. I understand too well the scars of mental abuse. Here, though, dear Vincent you have penned an amazing account of the feelings from a childs´point of view. I feel my brothers´pain from your words as he struggles more than I do with what we had no control over. Truly wonderful work. Thank you for bringing it out into the open. So much abuse still goes on.
    God bless. may you find peace in your heart and mind.

    • Dim I pen from my soul as you know. Yes I’ve lived much of what I write, however I needed to release the demons and share them in the hope that others will know and understand that they are not alone, I pray that they receive some healing from what I share and understand that there is hope. Many resources are available to those now that were never available in my past to help them get out of their circumstances with abuse. I am one of many who have survived abuse and can write about it. Hugs

    • Nancy those were days, weeks, months and years that myself and my siblings stayed close to each other. It was tough growing up in a home with abuse attached to the walls and floors. Demons enter innocent lives, why I’ll never know. However it made us stronger, we survived and stood by our dear mother.

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