The Scars that shape us

A once poor little boy, now a grown man- abandonment issues stitched into his skin,

trust issues rooted deep, especially with women.

A once poor little boy, now a grown man- who struggled with fidelity all his life,

never quite able to offer mutual respect to the women he loved.

Or tried to love.

Or pretended to love just to feel something.

This poor little boy-

as a child, had a mother who was an alcoholic.

Everyday, she left him and his siblings in the care of a babysitter. That babysitter-

was the poor little boy's abuser. A woman.

Trusted.

Smiling.

Dangerous.

His life was beginning to be paved-

with silence, with confusion. 

Poor Little Boy

In primary school, the topic of sex came up.

Poor little boy, confused by the word, asked innocently, "What is that?"

Laughter erupted.

A classmate, snickering, blurted out:

"When a penis goes into a girl's private place."

The teacher overheard. She moved to silence it- but before she could,

poor little boy confessed, so innocently, so obliviously: "Oh... I've done that heaps of times at home."

The room fell silent.

The teacher stared.

She didn't ask questions. She didn't listen.

She didn't save him.

She sent him to the thinking corner.

Punishment.

For truth.

Poor little boy.

Poor Little Boy

Poor little boy moved on to intermediate school. Then college.

But now a teen,

he was expelled for forcing himself on a fellow student. He didn't know it was wrong.

Because he'd been taught it was normal.

Poor little boy, raped and molested, year after year- never knew another way.

No one told him.

No one stopped it.

Poor little boy thought that was what love looked like.

His mother-

the same woman who chose alcohol over her children,

who placed him in the care of his abuser-

threw him out.

Onto the streets.

For what he did.

Homeless.

Lost.

Fifteen years old.

Poor Little Boy

Just a boy.

He survived a few nights on the streets. Breaking into homes.

Stealing food. Cold.

Hungry. Unloved.

Then-

a flicker of hope.

His older sister.

"I got you, bro. I'll look after you. I love you. You can live with me."

Relief.

Euphoria.

The ache in his chest started to melt.

He believed he was finally safe.

The next day-

she changed her mind. She met a guy.

"Sorry, can't take you in anymore."

Poor Little Boy

She walked away.

Another woman who left.

Poor little boy-now a homeless teen- returned to the streets.

No home.

No love.

Eventually, he found comfort in drugs. In alcohol.

The same poison that took his mother away.

Every woman who was supposed to protect him- abused him.

Neglected him. Abandoned him.

His ability to trust? Gone.

His respect for women? Gone.

Sex-something he was exposed to far too early- became currency.

Became identity.

Poor Little Boy

It made him feel wanted. Made him feel like a man. When, really,

he was still that poor little boy just trying to feel worthy.

To feel special. To feel loved.

But inside,

he was still broken.

Still hurting.

Still abandoned. Still confused. Still lonely.

Just a poor little boy disguised as a man.