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     I was only only twelve on that horrible day
      when abuse stole my home & my family away,
  the pressure-cooker our lives with him had become
overflowed that evening onto all us kids, & our mom.

    The dinner was tense, the wine became a source
of conversation, accusation, & then anger, of course,
    & everything was suddenly all our fault again,
as we struggled through another family holiday ruined.

          Then when he became enraged, so suddenly,
         screaming & attacking all of us {mainly me},
      she tried, in her weakness, to protect her child
          and he went even more out-of-control-wild,
      throwing the phone at her, ripped from the wall,
       hitting her pregnant belly, causing her to fall,
       I bolted for my room, overwhelmed, terrified,
    escape impossible, though how desperately I tried,
     my window frozen shut, becoming my prison bars,
          knowing more trauma & injury & scars
      were on their way, & so I tried to barricade
      myself into where I shouldn't have stayed.
    
  When he entered my room, shutting the door once again
     he beat me so severely I didn't know if or when
        I'd ever again even see the light of day,
  I began passing out from pain, and to plead, cry, & pray~

      ~Suddenly a knock was thundering at our door,
my little sister had run up to the payphone at the store,
       calling the police as mom had told her to do,
  but after awhile, {though I was turning black & blue}
          she told me they refused to leave until
        they saw me & talked to me, but even still
         she didn't want to have her man taken away,
      she promised me that if I would please just say
      it was all over & just a rare really bad night,
& nothing had really happened, then it would be alright,
she swore she'd leave him on her terms, they'd decide how
     to separate on their upcoming trip, but right now
           I needed to make the police go away,
    she begged me to be careful with what & how I say
   that nothing was going on, it was just a little spat...

...in the depths of my being, I didn't want to do that,
      I thought he'd return to my slaying that night,
but I didn't want to be the cause of another violent fight,
      so I played along, we're one big happy family,
  she smoothed out my hair, made it so they wouldn't see
the places some was missing, made me change my torn shirt
helped me down the hall, told me to hide that I was hurt,
put a cold cloth on my broken nose, my eyes not yet black,
just tell them I'd been crying, not that I was under attack~

  ~They asked me outside, wanted to hear the whole truth,
    I was so terrified, & still ignorant, in my youth,
      if I had only known then what I realize now
  I would've told them everything, set us free, & not bow
before lies & deception, & it would've changed everything,
    but now I also accept that wasn't my responsibility.
    
       Mom knew he was out of control all the time,
she knew he needed help taking responsibility for each crime,
    but she carried his baby, & had 5 kids on her own,
she thought she needed the things a man brings to a home,
      {& he was a good provider, she still tells herself,
    though her children were put on a far-away shelf.}

So I lied, & the police, who could see something was wrong
left us there to defend ourselves, all hope for help gone,
   As they went on their trip, I stayed home to recover,
       thinking when they returned he'd move out,
                  trusting my mother,
but when they came back acting like they were on a honeymoon,
& my sister said they were like that the whole time, I knew
that I could no longer stay, the light of hope grew so dim,
           she could've chosen her children,
             but she'd clearly chosen him~

    The police left him there that Christmas night
                     because I lied,
  I was just so beaten down, & used to being told to hide
      the truth of how tragic our lives had become,
     & desperately not wanting to not betray my mom
I betrayed myself instead, & my sisters when I denied
   the affects his abuse had on us all, deep inside.
  
  He hated me most because I found strength to fight back
        every violent, perverted satanic attack,
     so at 12 years old, I was secretly emancipated
& entered the adult world of freedom, terrified, & frustrated
      to be leaving my mom & my sisters in that hell,
praying they'd eventually somehow find the courage to tell,
   & I convinced myself they'd be better off with me gone,
  but on visits I could see that the battle still raged on,
         so I buried the truth as deeply as I could
         with alchohol & drugs & whatever felt good
     so the bad wouldn't rise to the surface & demand
    that I face & feel the pain, & finally take a stand.

  Of course the time finally came the truth had to be known,
      we sisters faced it together, all finally grown,
our youngest half-sisters were being abused, & we could see
    that mom couldn't protect them in their vulnerability,
  so though we suspected that the price paid would be high
    we did what we had to, we finally faced down the lie
        & we broke our agreement to hide the abuse,
  protecting our sisters was what we finally had to choose ~

               Our mom stood by her man,
           disowned her daughters, & held on
            to the illusion he was innocent,
            we must've lied, we were wrong,
          she pushed down all the she'd seen,
              the evidence, proof & clues
         that all of her kids have been damaged
                 by his years of abuse~

     ~ Now, 18 years later, he stands at death's door,
  will he confess what he did, & get right with God before
      he will have to answer for the sins he committed?
      Will they still be denied...or finally admitted?

      I pray for his soul, for his conscience to awaken
  before the times comes when the foundation's shaken
    & the things he has stood on, the truths he denied
  are brought to light by God, where he can no longer hide
       his need for forgiveness, & humility & grace...
       ...will he still try to pretend denial can erase
         violence & perversion & abuse, & the lies?
   No one else may've listened, but God heard our cries.
                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*
                           *~*~*  
                             *    
                                     ~By Anastazia Rowe~
                                         May, 2006.