A poem: The father’s violence was a curse

His words, a poison that could never be purified,

He took his anger out on the one he claimed to cherish, His daughter, a sweet innocent child,

But in truth, she was nothing but a tool, A means to an end, to satisfy his twisted needs.

His hands were always raised, His voice always shouting, His words like knives, cutting deep, His blows like a storm, destroying everything in his path.

He assaulted her, With a hatred so vile, so disgusting, His heart filled with darkness,
With a soul as black as tar.

His daughter’s screams were a lullaby,
A soothing melody to his ears, Her pain was a joy, a delight, A way to quench his lust for power.

His hands in her, like a gateway to hell,
Her whimpers fuelled him Her pain satisfied him His daughter hurt, but his pleasures fulfilled And that was all that mattered to him,
His desires.

Vile lust for his child.

She was your daughter, the one you Needed to protect, Not to be protected from, and yet, you failed.

The child you should’ve loved, you mistreated in her youth,

And now, you stand before the Consequences of it, full of truth.

She gave you her love, she gave you her trust But you shattered it with every word, every blow, every thrust.

You should’ve been her guardian, her protector, Her safe haven,

But instead, you were the monster her nightmares were made of.

Your words and your actions caused a wound that is now hard to heal, And for that, you have to live every day with the shame you feel.

You may never be able to forgive yourself,

But as you live with the guilt, she will try her best to live a happy life,

Free from the scars of her past, with love and with light.

*This poem was written by a 15-year-old girl whose father has been molesting her. The victim says writing down her feelings is part of her healing journey. Her identity has been protected. The poem is published with the full consent of her mother.