Shout Out for the EZRA Collective who stormed Glastonbury tonight, showing there is some hope for our youth of today.
They Told Me They Loved Me.
My parents told me they loved me after every time they beat me black and blue.
Maybe I was a very lucky child or maybe my parents were not telling the truth.
I wonder does that mean my friend's parents do not love any of them.
Because they do not have cuts and bruises covering their back, legs and arms.
My parents told me they loved me when they had not given me any food for two days.
They said it would be good for me and would help my bulging stomach go away.
I was not allowed to go back to school until the cuts and bruises had disappeared.
They said if the other children saw them, they would pick on me is what they feared.
My parents told me they loved me when I had to crouch in the corner with my hands on my head all night.
It is good for me to understand from a young age what is wrong and what is right.
When they made me repeatedly practise all the lies, that I always had to say.
For when the doctor and social worker visited us every Tuesday and Friday.
My parents told me they loved me when they made me sleep in the bath.
I must not tell anyone especially the other children because they would just laugh.
When they would not get me new shoes, when water was getting in because the souls were falling off.
It was very important for me to learn value of money because new things cost a lot.
My parents told me they loved me when I had to scrub the floors throughout the house.
It would stand me in good stead and was for my own good to understand what hard work was all about.
When they insulted me and constantly slashed my bottom with the big leather belt.
Because I was always having little accidents and had again wet myself.
My parents told me they loved me when they locked me in the cupboard under the stairs.
It would make a man out of me, and I would learn not to be afraid of the dark and be scared.
When they left me to look after my sisters while they went out regularly to the pub.
It was good training for me and would teach me how to behave like a grown up.
I still wonder did my parents really love me, I guess now I am never really going to know.
But they told me they did when I watched my father break my mother's nose.
Maybe they did and it was me in the wrong, maybe I'm being ungrateful for everything they have done.
My friend’s parents do not show their love in the same way, so maybe I deserved it, I was the one to blame.
Nataiella/1977
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Author:
Tobani / Nataiella (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 5th, 2025 02:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Damaso, Cheeky Missy
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Comments5
No-one deserves suffering and blame. It really sounds like a miserable up bringing. But the one clear thing is that you "survived" my friend. You survived. If you can survive parents like that you can survive anything. Congratulations on a very difficult poem to write. My childhood was similar so I can relate
Thank you
A poem of sadness, a tragic story, painted in lines of questions that seem rhetorical. A hard read that pains the heart.
Thank you
Well, teacher, I found your text that has brought me to tears, reliving moments marked by fire. Resentment was never the answer; it only leads to dying of poisoning. But the consequences of the scars of physical and psychological violence at an early age leave such deep scars that it's difficult to identify them once they have penetrated so deeply into your life. Today, I just want to be that adult I missed in those days. Incredible writing, Sir. Greetings.
Thank you for your understanding feedback, and as you said you want to be, I have always tried to be the adult I never encountered in my childhood, enjoy the rest of your day
You're welcome, sir. Likewise!
Extremely sad words Tobani, if this is true your got through it and are here for us all.
Andy
Thank you, I would not write unless it was true, have a lovely weekend
Answering this is rather difficult, very, very difficult. I mean, after all the verbal and physical abuse my own mother endured from hers, when she asked her father who had been party to it all whether her mother loved her, he didn't reply; instead, he tried to reassure her of his love. Between her and myself, we concluded with all the facts that her mother did love her. Perusing this poignant number not once but twice, I cannot say they did not nor affirm that they did. Neither can you but recall from a child's perspective, as she knew. I have a different angle thanks to my circumstances. On the one hand I suspect they seriously believed they loved the speaker, yet I frankly disagree with the abusive behavior toward the speaker. I know both sides, methinks. Since it is so far in the past it is difficult to reconcile, yet must be since the mind cannot rest with this perpetually eating at it. Ergo, yes, they loved the speaker yet they were dreadfully misguided and utterly incorrect in their mistreatment of their own child. Beautifully rendered with excellent imagery and a most haunting poignancy. Thank you so very much for sharing.
Thank you for your kind words, very much appreciated
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