A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.

I have a picture of a man, laid in bed with his baby son sleeping on his chest. He is reading the paper. I look at it, and I wonder what happened to make that man hurt that child.

My abuser – My father.

I hate to call him that. I hate to label him.

He is my dad. The person that helped to create me. The person whose genes I carry. Whose reflection stares out at me whenever I look in the mirror.

Yet he is the one who took from me. The one that beat me. Starved me. Committed countless assaults on me for over a decade. Sold me. The one who broke me. The one that made me a mess and left me with all these shattered pieces to pick up.

I should walk away but I can’t. I think maybe that is hard for people to understand. Perhaps those that are fortunate enough to have real parents. We see child abuse in the paper, on the television. Hear about it on the radio and each time often peoples thoughts and even my own sometimes. Is why didn’t someone take the child away and do something?

Why didn’t the child leave?

Why do I still keep my father in my life?

I was asked once by a teacher if everything was okay. She had put up with me for months coming into the classroom and sitting at my desk and just crying. Of course I tried to hide it, but I could never stop it. It would just happen. I don’t really know why. Maybe it was because I was safe and I could.

I’d cry because I was hungry, because I had a new bruise or it hurt just to move.  I’d cry because I was tired and hadn’t slept or I was sick because my mother had given me more medicine and still I wasn’t good enough. Sometimes I’d cry because I was alone in my world. I was ten.

My teacher saw me crying again one morning and took my hand. She walked me down to the library. Gave me a drink and a tissue and sat with me. She held me when I cried and then she asked me ‘is something bad happening at home?’

I froze. I stared. I stuttered. I had no idea what to say because I realised in that moment I had given it away. I had shown my secrets.

I lied to her. I said no. She asked me why I cried and I lied and told her that I was upset because my brother had more toys than me and didn’t share. It was partly true, but a lame ten year olds reason.

I lied because I didn’t want my mum and dad to get into trouble. I didn’t want them to go to prison. I didn’t want to be taken away. I didn’t want to live somewhere safe. I just wanted my mum and dad to stop what they did to me and love me like they did my brother. It was that simple for me.

After that day I never let what was going on at home show to the outside world. I had to protect my parents. People wouldn’t understand. People would think they were bad. They would think they were evil and they weren’t.  People didn’t know my parents like I did.

I realise that I still hold that same hope. That’s what keeps me from walking away. Nothing has changed. He called me a week ago, and within twenty minutes had sunk me. Not with anything malicious, just the gentle hints of manipulation that remind me I am nothing to him. I am nothing more than the scrapings of a child he helped to make.

Yesterday he called me again. He was happy and excited. He talked to me about his grandchildren like a real father and grandfather. He gave me a glimpse of the dad I wish I had.  I held onto that. I fed it to my guilt. I told myself I was wrong for being upset with him. I was wrong for even having Dear Teddy out. It was saying bad things about him and he doesn’t know of its existence. I felt so guilty for the way I have treated him. The no father’s day card. Everything bad that I had done towards him came crashing down in my mind, because for a few minutes he gave me hope.

A friend of mine whom I talked to. She told me to look at it. See it for what it is, because if he was the father I was wishing for. The one I was waiting for then he would show remorse too. He would apologise. He would feel bad for the things he did.

He doesn’t.

Maybe the wolf dressed as the sheep and I believed it.

A Boys Journal. Daddy Must Go. Date Unknown. Boy Aged 19

A Boys Journal. Daddy Must Go. Date Unknown. Boy Aged 19


Daddy has to go

Tear filled eyes do not keep hold

They don’t keep me here

Just a pulling inside

A moment

Soon it’s gone

Tiny face not forgotten

But a different calling


Guilt ridden memories

Smoothed out with tiny needles

My son, you’re safe

Your tiny hands do not compete

Let go

My father and his scales weigh heavier

My daddy in the dark

I am not your hero

My jaded eyes at the candy store

He has what I need.

Do not look at me like that.

You left

You left

And I was done

I cried for you

You didn’t come

I wondered why

I was all alone



What did I do?



I tried so hard

Didn’t you see?

I did it for you

The badness inside

It controlled me


Is that why you did it?

So sneaky behind my back

So you could laugh

Sit and make your plans

Like a plan of attack


My innocence

It never expected

The designs

No clue




You did it like I was nothing

What was I supposed to do with that?

Thank you?

Inside my horror

Made its bed.




The only time you were my father

Was in my imagination


The only time you gave me food

Was when I earned it


The only time you held my hand

Was to hold me down


The only time you touched my face

Was to beat me


The only time you bathed my skin

Was to wash away your sins


The only time you wrapped your arms around me

Was to hurt me


The only time you ever loved me

Was not a time I recall at all


Entry in A Boy’s Journal – date: unknown.

Twelve minutes

Twelve minutes


Twelve minutes It’s hardly any time at all Does it matter Something so small


In twelve minutes I could give you the world Make you promises you deserve I could bow down to you And honour you this way


Twelve minutes…


I could speak words not left unspoken A stolen moment A look A blissful kiss to say goodbye


Twelve minutes to hold your hand To feel your skin on mine The gentle touch of your fingers Until that last moment


I could give those words The ones I’m afraid to say Whispered nothing’s, a dream The impossible moments of a future


If I could buy those twelve minutes I’d sit and look at you I’d keep every second, in a place so deep inside I’d sit here right beside you, even just to hold your hand


Twelve minutes…


Not very long at all But if they got stolen So many things I’d regret The space of a minute With you, you give me every breath.


If you had those twelve short minutes what would you give to me?