Childline Lockdown

With the Coronavirus lockdown, children are at even greater risk of abuse. This could be emotional, mental, sexual or physical, but a lot of the reports the NSPCC are getting are related to emotional abuse. It is proving harder for social workers to gain access to homes due to lack of personal protective equipment, social distancing and lack of staffing.

NSPCC can be contacted here:0808 800 5000 or via help@nspcc.org.uk

Here’s a poem I wrote through the eyes of a victim.

Childline Lockdown

I don’t know what
I did wrong
Cooped up
24 hours a day
Radio blaring
Incessantly
Happy people singing
Bullshit songs
To people in
Their bullshit lives
Abusive husbands
Battered wives
Shit scared kids
As tempers fry
And swift fists fly
And I swallow all
My tears
Cos if I cry
He will get angry
Again I’m
In enough
Fucking pain

I have a friend
I call him Ted
He’s been with me
Since I was two
Keeps the monsters
Out from under
The bed
Soaks up the blood
When my dad
Sees red
But it’s the monsters
In the daytime
I’m really scared of
I call them dad
And mum

Social workers
Knocking on the door
But mum knows how
To play it
Long sleeves
Hide the bruises
Walked into the door
Hit my head
On the table
So careless
One day I’d probably
End up dead
Social worker suspicious
But dad always says
I was clumsy

Ted understands me
I can tell him
Anything
When dad is
Screaming
Temper raging
Ted helps me to sing
Over the Rainbow
If I had a phone
Then I would ring
Childline
But it’s the fists
I fear

And it’s a long time
Till I am sixteen
Then I will tell
Them all
To fuck themselves
That day I’ll
Be queen
In my own kingdom
And there’ll be no
Fists for bombs
No ‘what did I do
So fucking wrong?’
And I will shine
That day
Like a
Rainbow

©2020 Sarah Drury

Enough

WARNING: REFERENCES TO SELF HARM AND SUICIDE

Mental health is a topic very close to my heart, and not only do i have my own issues, but my twelve year old son too. There is simply not enough provision for mental health, especially child and adolescent. This poem was inspired by a documentary that was on a couple of weeks ago. Broke my heart. NB My son is not suicidal, he has anxiety issues, but many kids are.

Enough

When you’re twelve years old and you’ve had enough
Of this sickened, filtered, twisted, rifted
Motive shifted, Kardashian tit-lifted world
When days are knocking on the doors of empty houses
Gazing through windows of opulence
But at night you’re there again, sleeping rough
In this maze of mental health
In this haze of giving up cos life’s too fucking tough.

So a pill’s a pill
So what if you knock back a death sentence?
What if you let your soul bleed and your tears spill?
And the pills slip down, down
Emotions drowned, regrets not making sounds
Years of heartache and sadness driving your pain to the ground
Pain to the pill to the pill to the pain
Who gives a shit if you sit here and cry again?
No one dares to see you, sane or insane
Hurtling along like a broken bowling ball
in the pre-teen child psychiatry lane.

When you’re twelve years old
And suicide is the coat you covet
And you wear the hat of a depressed diplomat
Playing self-harm cricket with a knife and not a bat
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And twinkle, twinkle little scar
I see your tears, I see your fears, I feel your pain from afar
So why doesn’t anyone
Fucking help me?

Is it those poison ivy girls again?
Do their tongues clack their tickety-boo nonsense?
Churning words of insults cursed,
Jealousies
Wickedness in unrehearsed dramas
They know how to hurt the hurting
And the hurting know how to hurt.
You are worth so much more
If your strength would rise up and thrust a fist
through the floor
Of their house of sticks
Then maybe the sticks and stones would break THEIR bones.

When you’re twelve years old
And you’ve had enough of the merciless world
But the world hasn’t had enough of you
And you’re trying to lose your feeble grip
But the world keeps clinging on
And you’re exhausted and your soul is void and blue
And you wish everyone would just fuck off
Just fuck right off
And you could do this suicide thing
You could finally see it through.

But the world hasn’t had enough
Of you

©2020 Sarah Drury