Shattered Glass Life After Abuse

Reading about Rick Warren's son's suicide "hit home" and made me think about a lot of things , therefore, I had to write. I am a survivor! I have been one since early childhood. I had to be or I would already be dead. I grew up in an abusive home and daily survived, escaping the hands of death, evil committed against the children by my father. I didn't understand why... why was I living? why was I allowed to go through all the abuse? why didn't I have good parents, parents who loved me? why did I not get to be a little girl? why was life so hard for me? why could I never get a break? why did no one help me? why did every time I seemed to get ahead something would fall apart? why was the government not able to stop my father? why would he not die? why did my mother allow it? why did she not leave? why did no one stand up to him? why did every adult pretend nothing was happening? why did everyone forget, pretending nothing happen? why ...

This is an edgy poem. I was thinking about how through my life relationships have been hard. In my rawness and brokeness I have scared many "good" people away. Knowing someone who has lived a hard life - can 'in it self' have times that are very "up hill" to work through. You don't always get what you want or what you expect and many times the odd conversations or moments are never reviewed because when they are done, once they have happen, they are gone. This is awkward for most people - they don't know how to handle and accept the unexpected. I don't view myself broken, but more like a stained glassed window made of pieces of my life because of the pain I lived through. I see life through a stained glass pain, I'm not insane, it's just my view. From birth to the hell I was spurned, Tried by the day, no one had a clue. Turn up the flame, Lead in the fire, Broken glass is plain Piece it in the frame. Walked the night in...