I am but a child of two, not much higher than your knee.
I reach my arms out to my mom, hold me is my plea.
But she cannot pick me up, for she is getting beat.
My grandma comes and takes me to a place of safe retreat.
This is my first memory, that stays inside of me.
The pain of watching helplessly, as my mom is getting beat.


Now I am seven, dad is drunk and in a rage.
Mom has locked herself away, the situation seems so grave.
My sisters and I are cowering, against our front door.
Dad say’s he’s stabbing mom in the heart, and we crumble to the floor.
This is another memory, that stays inside of me.
The pain of watching helplessly, as my mom is getting beat.

Now I am ten, we are on a corner of our street.
My sisters scream, as they watch, my mother getting beat.
I watch in silent terror, but I cannot cry out.
But every fiber of my being wants to let it out.
This is another memory, that stays inside of me.
The pain of watching helplessly, as my mom is getting beat.

I came from a broken home, though my dad had never left.
But my home needed fixing, and my childhood was bereft.
All the memories that I hold will stay inside of me.
I can’t forget the pain I felt, as my mom was getting beat.

But to all who may be out there, and have been through this before.
I hope that it will help, to know you’re not alone.
And though we will remember the pain , we can choose to carry on.
And face life with a smile, not let the memories beat us down.