Poem Hunter
My Name Is Chris
(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

My Name Is Chris

This poem is a true story pass it on if you can:

My name is Chris
I am three
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see
I must be stupid
I must be bad
What else could have made
My daddy so mad?
I wish I was better
I wish I weren't ugly
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me
I can't do a wrong
I can't speak at all
Or else I'm locked up
All day long
When I'm awake I'm all alone
The house is dark
My folks aren't home
When my mommy does come home
I'll try and be nice
So maybe I'll just get
One whipping tonight
I just heard a car
My daddy is back
From Charlie's Bar
I hear him curse
My name is called
I press myself
Against the wall
I try to hide
From his evil eyes
I'm so afraid now
I'm starting to cry
He finds me weeping
Calls me ugly words
He says it my fault
He suffers at work
He slaps and hits me
And yells at me more
I finally get free
And run to the door
He's already locked it
And I start to bawl
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall
I fall to the floor
With my bones nearly broken
And my daddy continues
With more bad words spoken
I'm sorry I scream
But its now much to late
His face has been twisted
Into a unimaginable shape
The hurt and the pain
Again and again
O please God have mercy
O please let it end
And he finally stops
And heads for the door
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor
My name is Chris
I am three
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me
And you can help
Sickens me to the soul
And if you read this
And don't pass it on
I pray for your forgiveness
Because you would have to be
One heartless person
To not be affected
By this poem
And because you are affected
Do something about it! ! !

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