Patterns Of The Young Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

When little, falling into a pattern, not one of my own
choosing to be sure.

A lifetime of horror and abuse by those who supposedly
loved me more than anything on earth.

Walking from day to night, never knowing from one moment
to the next, what would end up happening.

Following no routine, rules were set up to end in sexual
abuse, for no matter what happened, whether listening or
not, the end result was always the same.

Pain, abuse, physical violence, all were normal events of
each day, no one seemed to care, no one stopped any of
it from coming about.

All the screams of tears fell silently, wasted on those
who endeavored to use the little body of an innocent
child.

Falling into a pattern as a child, it followed into
puberty and on into adulthood.

This pattern no longer fitting, but it's carried like a
school bag, not knowing how to get rid of it.

Not too long ago, starting to learn, slowly, beginning
to barely understand what had happened as a child.

Making progress a tiny bit at a time, finally can see the
light, the barest thread of hope in all this eternal
darkness.