Project Description

My Three

Ripped out one by one
Before their life had begun
Put there by abuse
There really was no use
In crying
In trying
To understand

At 11 and 12
My nan she delved
Inside me
To take out
What should not have been there

At nearly 15, I thought he’d be glad
When I told my dad
He’d fathered another
With me.
His face went all red
And he simply said,
“I’ll sort it”.

He gave me some money
And the bus took me
To a masked man’s kitchen table.
I was
Sent home in a taxi
Once I was able
To stand

The echoes of life
Cut short by a knife
Still linger


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