Frrp, Frrp, Frrp…
Frrp, frrp, frrp, frrp…
His slippers drag in the hall
Pulls the blanket over her head
It’s Daddy’s nighttime call
She has a lot of sore throats
and trouble swallowing pills
Doctor never questions
rashes that sting like quills
And Daddy took her to the hill
to watch the stars at night
And Daddy brought her home so late
She can’t remember things right
Frrp, frrp, frrp, frrp…
The sound will haunt her dreams
Even though he’s dead and gone
He still looms large, it seems
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
If you’re new here, I hope you will take this recollection of being sexually molested for what it is: Dark truth, frank as blood from a tapped vein. I was a victim; eventually, with work, I became a survivor. This is for anyone who gets a flutter reading this poem. Think about starting therapy. There could be something worth harvesting… and throwing away.
For ABC Wednesday, the letter “F.” Check out the link and find some amazing poets! Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 
Roger Green
As usual, you are a brave, gutsy soul.
kaykuala
Traumatic experiences can well be tucked in the sub-conscious for a long time! Nicely Amelita!
Hank
Anita
Oh Amy, I got your message from your poem. Sorry to read about your sad experience. Wish no one suffered such molestations…
May things be okay. Erasing memories is tough. Wish our brain had a recycle-bin/Undo/Delete button like that in a Computer…
Stay blessed, dear.
sharplittlepencil
Anita, thanks. Ironically, I don’t regret it at all. The shame I felt, the brief detour into self-medication, and finally the therapy I am still going through has all made me a stronger person. I took chances in those days – hell, I still do – because of what happened, I think. Like, if I could survive that, just watch me talk down to the governor of New York State on camera. So it’s all good. xoxo
brian miller
ugh. quite stomach turning in how even that sound is like impending doom…so sad…heart breaking…there are som sick people out there…makes me wonder as well what happened to them that they feel the need to take it out on their kids…it can feel so helpless as well when no one seems to notice…
kimeln
My heart just aches. My chest is pounding with the words you write and the pain you’ve endured. I love you always. Kimberly
Sent from my iPhone
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Denise Nesbitt
Very moving xxx
Leticia
So sorry for such a terrible tragedy.
Leticia
Oh, se me olvido decirte que me encantan comentarios en espanol! Espero me visites otra ves! Mi casa es tu casa o mi blog es tu blog. 🙂
magiceye
Poignantly tragic!
Regarding your comment on my post – Yes, ‘flowergirl’ is a job and I agree with what you stated but then poverty is a reality and in the circumstances it is the best thing for her. The State ignores this class except during elections.
leesis
spine tingling in that horrid chilling way Amy. Ya did it again!
Jae Rose
And the throwing away is the hardest part…you write so eloquently…firm footed and good and true…x
Su-sieee! Mac
As I began reading, I thought oh a pleasant memory of childhood, but it didn’t seem right as I went along. After reading your statement, I reread the poem. The images stung, and that’s saying it nicely. Good for you! For working through the horror of your childhood and standing strong today and writing about it to help others.
xploreandxpress
Very sad. When people who are meant to protect us harm / hurt us so deeply , the scars remain for a long time. God bless .
Thomas M. Watt
thank you for your strength, Amy.