In my attempt to highlight...........

the abuse and atrocities children face at the hand of adults, I'd like to share this poem with you. It was sent to me by a friend just days after I had first visited the foster home. Strange thing is, she didn't know of my visit when she sent it!








Daddy.... It hurts.

My name is Chris, I am three.
My eyes are swollen, I cannot see.
I must be stupid, I must be bad.
What else could have made my daddy so mad??

I wish I were better, I wish I weren't ugly.
Then maybe my mommy would still want to hug me.
I can't do a wrong, I can't speak at all.
Or else I am locked up all day long.

When I'm awake, I'm all alone.
The house is dark, my folks aren't home.
When my mom does come home, I'll try and be nice.
So maybe I'll just get one whipping tonight.

I just heard a car,
My daddy is back from Charlie's bar
I hear him curse, my name is called.
I press myself against the wall.

I tried to hide from his evil eyes.
I'm so afraid now, I'm starting to cry.
He finds me weeping, calls me ugly words.
He says it's my fault he suffers at work.

He slaps and hits me, and yells at me more.
I finally get free and run to the door.
He's already locked it, and I start to bawl.
He takes me and throws me, against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor, with my bones nearly broken.
And my daddy continues, with more bad words spoken.
'I'm sorry!' , I scream, but it's now much too late
His face has been twisted, into an unimaginable shape.

The hurt and the pain, again and again.
Oh please God have mercy! Oh please let it end!
And he finally stops and heads for the door.
While I lay there motionless, sprawled on the floor.

My name is Chris, I am three.
Tonight my daddy murdered me.