I was born in England, and I had a life of violence
I grew up in a family with suffering and silence.
Not only the literal kind, but one much harder still,
the type that terrifies you, and you constantly feel ill.
This works so well, because it makes you live in great suspense,
where everything you say and do, is held within a fence.
You have to watch how you behave, and each word that you say,
you know their threats aren’t far away, and after, you will pay.
It’s worse than simply hitting you, for then at least it’s done,
but now you live in fear of it, and there’s nowhere to run.
Even if you could, you wouldn’t make it to the end,
abuse is all you’re used to, you don’t know how to defend.
You want to find a way to stop it happening right now,
you’ve become their victim, it’s as if you showed them how.
Already damage has been done, and never will repair,
the best that you can hope for, is not give up in despair.
Your progress doesn’t kick off quite as quickly as you’d like,
You have so many traumas in your head to take a hike.
They don’t leave so easily, in fact they never will,
it’s marked strong in your memory, the thought’s more shocking still.
I’ve now escaped my family, I thought I never would,
my brother is now dead, I cannot grieve, although I should.
Even now I still resent him, for inflicting pain on me,
and I won’t forgive my mother, as I know she’s not sorry.
Years ago she boasted how she locked us into hell,
the details of a brother who she drove into a shell.
She put him in a cellar full of rats, the age of three,
his head flushed down the toilet, and so much more cruelty.
I couldn’t stand to hear much more, and I got barred that night,
for getting quite hysterical and wound up in a fight.
Thrown out of the pub, my mother trailed me back home,
her face was dark and scowling, all her evidence was shown.
Once she let it slip, she didn’t try to hide for cover,
instead she puffed her chest out, with the pride of violent mother.
She held a grudge against her sons, because they were born male,
she hated them for genitals, their physical detail.
Some will defend her, say she’s sick, but there is no excuse,
there is no repentance so what really is the use?
To top it all, religion just became her last defence,
she pointed every scripture out and hid in them like tents.
Sweet justice came her way last year, she never will recover,
one poor son just killed himself, her conscience is another.
Nobody points the finger, just her own hand at herself,
that is real justice, and I’ll leave that on her shelf.
