Therapeutic Ink, Poetry For Survivors



I am sharing this poetry in hopes that you may find in it,
familiarity and a sense of healing. You are not alone. I care
Note:Some Poetry May be Triggering!

Frenzy Please don't say you understand if you’ve never been to the brink of insanity. Don’t tell me you know what it’s like to feel turmoil day in and day out. In your mind black is black, white is white and colors enhance everything in between. In mine, there is no distinction, nothing but rainbows in disarray… Out of Reach I wish I could remember soft, gentle touches by loving hands, affectionate words spoken without enuendo. I wish I could recall a time when innocence was unbroken and little hearts still trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt… Incest He waits until darkness to distribute his love in obnoxious lethal doses of sin… Death of Innocence I remember, I remember the fury inside, the shame that I suffered when my pain was denied. I felt like the corpse of an innocent child. The instant he touched me my spirit was defiled. I remember, I remember, my cries went unheard and I will never forget when the killing occurred… Call To God How can you justify the misery Of little ones so innocent and pure? What logic is behind iniquity? Is evil something we must all endure? If there’s a better place beyond this earth where misery and suffering disappears, why must we bear this pain from time of birth until the ocean fills up with our tears? Lord, I ask for kindness with these prayers, from children who call out to you at night. Dear God, they need to know that someone cares, these angels who are precious in your sight. Deliver us from evil, I implore Oh God in heaven, we can’t take much more…

Musical Lobotomy If I could purge that part of my brain that stores pain, I would replace it with a soothing refrain; Bach, Beethoven or simply rain… © 2002 Susan Maree Jeavons Published in KotaPress May 2002 Issue Kota Press
and at Inscriptions of Hope




Back To School, Lessons I Never Learned

Things Not Dared I never danced a ballet like other little girls did. I was too busy running away. I never had the nerve to perform in the school play or tell anyone why I wouldn’t. I did finally enter the talent show and sang my heart out, but Billy Thomas must have been better or was it simply that grownups have a soft spot for little boys playing Romeo? Things Unfinished Once when I knew the answer to Mr. McHenry’s question, I couldn’t make myself raise my hand because the memory of your face reminded me that I could never trust anyone… I Never Knew I never knew that other little girls didn’t play the same games that you and I played Daddy. I never knew that hugs and kisses could be good things and that there was any such thing as “bad” touches. I never knew how much I hated you until Haleigh smiled at me and said, “I love you Grandma.” Act One This lifetime is simply a rehearsal. In my next gig I will sing opera and dance seductively with a handsome stranger. In my next life I will sip margaritas on a deserted island and never feel alone. I will never know the feeling of being betrayed. I will not have to imagine a world without child abuse for in my next gig the world will be a perfect place where suffering and hate aren’t even in the dictionary…
Transformation From daughter of darkness to woman of light, I searched for my soul to make everything right. I suffered in silence, too long I was still now I shout out the truth and it helps me to heal. My secrets no longer have any control. Now I am the master of my own soul and finally, finally this woman is whole.


In Memory of Tesslynn O’Cull-1994-1997 Tesslynn O’Cull was only 3-years-old, when they found her body in a grave near Sweet Home. It was the worst case of child abuse they’d ever seen thanks to Jesse Compton and methamphetamine. This beautiful child was tortured to death, and I vowed that until my very last breath, I would tell her story so we’d never forget, for society owes her at least this debt. Others saw the abuse, yet they did not tell, and this child’s life was a living hell. She was shocked, raped and beaten and no one cared, as her mother watched, Tesslynn sat and stared. Tesslynn dared not scream or she’d have to pay when Jesse threw knives and punches her way. People came and went, but refused to step in, so high on drugs that it didn’t matter to them. Stella Kizer and Jesse Compton must pay their dues, still the story of Tesslynn is now old news, and though some may forget, I will keep my vow to keep her memory alive somehow. There’s a picture of Tesslynn on my office wall, and at night in my dreams I can hear her call. As she reaches out from beyond the grave, I weep for the child that we could not save, I weep for the child that we could not save… © 2005 Susan Maree Jeavons-All Rights Reserved Remembering Lattie McGee-1983-1987 His name was Lattie McGee. I never met him, and he never met me, but he touched my life in a profound way when I saw his face on the news one day. His little body was bruised and battered, every bone in this child was broken or shattered. He was tortured to death at the age of four, on the south side of Chicago, like a prisoner of war. He was beaten, he was gagged, then hung upside down. He was burned, he was starved, and then he was bound inside a dark closet to hang there and die, for no one heard the little boy cry, no one heard the little boy cry. Thirty years to life, Johnny Campbell received. He showed no remorse, he never even grieved for the tiny boy named Lattie McGee who died so young and so tragically. If the time ever comes for Johnny to be free, I pray the parole board will look at him and see that no man who tortured a child that way, should ever again see the light of day. Let him suffer alone, let him rot in his cell! For what he did to Lattie, may he burn in hell! Before he takes his last breath, before he can state his case, I hope that he sees Lattie’s innocent face. May he look terror in the eyes, may he feel Lattie’s pain. May he struggle to survive, but let it be in vain. When the last light goes out before Johnny Campbell dies, may he forever and ever, hear Lattie’s cries… forever and ever, hear Lattie’s cries… © 2005 Susan Maree Jeavons-All Rights Reserved


All Poems © 200-2005 Susan Maree Jeavons All Rights Reserved.
Poems May Not Be Copied Without Permission From Author


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