The Broken Child Is Hard To Mend Poem by Amy Kerswell

For child who was broken
It is very hard to mend...
Our pain is rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from our friends.

Our parents said they loved us,
So how come they didnt no.
If they knew they hid it well.

They broke our hearts
and stole our worth,
with the things they would say.
And how they would rape us.

We wanted them to leave us, be
We didn't know what we did
to make them hurt at us.


They'd beat us up and scream at us
and rape and abuse us
Then they'd hold us close inside their arms
Making sure we couldnt get away.

When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
but the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that everything was hunky dory


Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,

In search of dignity...
We werent to find
certainly not around them.


Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop
hearing and feeling
what they did to our insides.


We couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that,


when you had not been damaged yet...
To figure on your fingers
that the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment



We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,

There's alot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.



or look at trouble we're having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they're doomed to end,
remember...
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee-
it is very hard to bend.

For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend