Readers; this is one of the most read posts on my blog, The Last Straw. To help support other men, women and children find this supportive blog please link to this blog when possible, especially if you are using the following poem on your site. When you link here it increase the chance of it being found in search engines, again, allowing others to benefit from our support. My many thanks.
PERMISSION TO USE POEM: This poem and photo are all over the net now, please make sure to give kuddos to the author – Rebecca J. Burns and the photographer D. Sharon Pruitt. You may ONLY use the photo when posting the poem with it. You DO NOT have permission to use only the photo. For photo use only contact me and I will send your email to the photographer. This is very important so please don’t just paste it somewhere.
You have permission to use this poem as is for plays, newsletters, blogs and such as long as you give credit. Also, try and leave a blog post letting me know you are using it. I recently received an email asking to use the poem without my name. I prefer not to as the reason for writing this poem was to generate awareness of abuse and to steer readers to this blog to help themselves and others recover from abuse of any kind.
Photos by D. Sharon Pruitt
Author Rebecca J. Burns
The Last Straw Blog
DON’T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME (My name is Bobby)
Dedicated to little ones living with adult fears
Photos by D. Sharon Pruitt
My name is Bobby;
Although you never hear me speak,
I’ve lots to say.
Even though you never see me smile,
Deep inside I’m still your child.
Although you don’t know my name,
I breathe in and out just the same.
This game you play, I don’t know the rules,
I go to school, and I try to be,
The child you dream.
One foot forward and two steps back,
you did it wrong now take that slap.
Get off the floor you silly fool;
Go cry your tears into Winnie the Pooh.
You have no choice, you are my child, No one cares if you live or die. Don’t say a word, Don’t tell a soul. You must be so good, They’ll think you’re made of gold.
Did you play this with your dad? You were his only son. Why are you so mad? Why do you make me run? I lie beneath my bed; the pillow no longer drowns the dread.
What made you so mad? You only hit me once yet I feel so sad. I’m in my room upon my knees, hoping that you will see, the hurting child inside of me. I’m praying that lightening will strike; will I die before the morning light?
I don’t want to play this game, I don’t know the rules, I don’t want to play your stupid game no more. Take away the board, smash it on the floor, Daddy won’t you let me know the way, to play this game you play, I’ll learn the rules someday,
I promise if you let me run away…
I won’t say a word,
I won’t tell a soul,
I will be so good;
you’ll think I’m made of gold.
(Whispered lower) …