These poems are crafted to express the pain a child may have carried on growing up. I intend to use these as eye openers to parents who might have been so engrossed on fending for the family thus forgetting parenting. This could at least tell parents the possible outcomes of a child who could grow up with so much pain that might have led to hatred. I could only tell you what shouldn't have been done but what you should do is something you'd have to figure out on your own because every child is special.

I shouldn't have been....

* beaten so hard

*forced to sleep on afternoons

*compared to my neighbor's child or any child for that matter

*put down


If only feeble limbs can grow so numb

To satisfy thy merciless parched whip.

If only I do not bleed, never sob,

Perhaps, pour all thine anger in mine cup.

If only I could cower like a stump

It never quirks no matter where ye hew.

He is content to flop; he know’st no pomp

It sits still. “Lo, the lashes turning few!”

But once the silent owns a voice, beware!

He ascertains to hold it quite for long

Ye may begin to lose thy grip, I swear

Irresolute limbs hath now sprung forth strong.

‘Tis wrong to castigate thy very child;

All anger poured, turn’th hatred piled.


When glaring sun peeps through closed doors for me

I cannot welcome thee, please stay away.

Why do I lie in sheets, in slumber be?

The day is warm but, mum, I shall obey

Then Cyclops came with heavy steps she snatched;

Mine petty limbs she grabbed with giant hand

Blood broke from open wounds; right then I crouched.

She grabbed Aeolus’ sack, scooped me like sand

From that sack, I was set free; Or was I?

Then stood I bearing marks bestowed on Cain,

This devious life I lead, I cried, oh why!

I wonder no more, I accept mine pain.

From tears we toughen, from the pits we rise;

These marks I bear don’t curse, they make me wise.


How it hurts when thou doth all that thou can

In thy mother’s eyes thou art but a botch

They neighbor’s child stems better; it began

He doth this and that, all I cannot catch;

Like hatchling, flight remains one sorry plight,

When every step is naught; just rather noise,

When every befalling dissolves in far sight,

Till not to fly becometh a tough choice.

A bird is a bird. He who yearn’th to see,

To journey diverse realms to chase esteem;<


Peruse the pages; Life hath such a spree.

He shalt reach full docks, he who thrives to dream.

Belittled child sails raging loathsome seas;

He needed his folks hushing such harsh breeze.


I seldom see home… don’t know home no more!

I journey hither then got lost thither

I’m cast aside since I walked out the door,

I shut the red door pulling me to err.

Nothing seems right by me, no day nor night

Hath passed not beating my young lonely heart.

I was the little queen of errs. Not right!

Some wit? How shalt I ever get to start?

So slowly, I stretched my mind; sat to think

I gathered myriad thoughts and oh, I’m chic!

Amazement urged me; walk on ‘til the brink

Of self discovery; danced when the clocks tick.

A child aligned to see not his true self,

Unearths the wonders sitting on the shelf.

You might want to listen to me read these poems at 



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I am urged to write for my students. I may not be the greatest among writers but I want to show them the possibilities of the tasks I ask them to do. That I do not just simply demand; I ensure learning by example. Thus I lead by example.

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