Hope Poem

(In Memory Of My Maternal Grandmother)
I am a Confessional Poet who appreciates the therapeutic and healing value of poetry as well as the creative and artistic value.
My undergraduate degree is in English/ Journalism and my graduate degree will be in Professional Counseling. My passion lies with utilizing poetry therapy and writing therapy in addition to traditional psychotherapy models.
So many of us have endured the pain of a broken heart and dampened spirit. We must grasp and use tools such as poetry to help in our healing process.
I wish love and joy to all who can relate to any parts of my poem on abuse.

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My Fountain Of Tears And Mountain Of Fears

©

Published: May 2008

What a sense of power she must have felt as she physically abused me, a child at least two feet shorter and about 180 pounds lighter, not to mention a child of her own blood.

She hit me all over with a switch from the big tree in the front yard that left stinging scratches that burned.

She beat me with a belt from the closet and caused painful red welts, bleeding and lots of crying.

She whacked me across my wet back with an extension cord leaving a nasty bruise that caused excruciating pain I thought would never stop as I sobbed in fear. The physical pain stopped, but the memory lingered and the scar will go to my grave.

She burned my ears, neck and head repeatedly with a smoking hot comb straight from the flaming fire of the stovetop. Burns and scars were so regular I didn't know what it felt like not to have them.

She swatted me all over with a germ infested fly swatter leaving dotted red imprints on my skin.

She called me cruel names to bring me to tears while lowering my self-esteem before I even knew what self-esteem was and that mine was being damaged. It improved with years of therapy and a spiritual foundation.

She threatened me as I was forced to stand before her, the person who suffered from a post-slave master psyche. Her ignorance prevented her from realizing slaves didn't deserve this immoral and unjust treatment and neither did I.

She fed me, but browbeat and constrained me to the dinner table for hours trying to force me to eat cold food until I was on the verge of vomit.

She made sure I lived in constant fear by subjecting me to an abundance of bullying, torture, beatings, threats, and name-calling.

Maybe she thought I would forget or that I would understand. Maybe she thought I would forgive her or honor her someday.

My faith in the Lord taught me to forgive all and this poem is in honor of my monstrous maternal grandmother. She educated me in iniquity, distrust, and self-preservation.

I thank her for instilling a strong mind and spirit within me that can endure torture and survive in the midst of unjustifiable mental distress.

She unwittingly gave me the gift of hopes and dreams as I held on to my hopes and dreams of a better life without her abuse.

She taught me that family is not a choice we can make because I would never have chosen her. Despite our lack of choice, we can control our destiny.

We can choose not to accept the victim role we were forced into as a child and we can choose not to repeat the evilness.

We can strive to fill our hearts with love and our minds with optimism as we drain our Fountain of Tears and stomp our Mountain of Fears.

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