Me at age 3 - ⚠ Trigger Warning ⚠

Heavy weight on me. Heard to breathe. Why is he doing this?
I don’t understand. I am so scared.
I don't want this.

I thought he loved me. Why is he doing this to me.
Why is he causing so much pain,
I don’t understand it.

The stuff I drank makes me feel weird,
like I don’t really understand what is happening,
but I still remember.
I can still feel everything.

Why does he keep doing this.
Night after night, like the boogie man,
but he is real.

so much pressure on my head,
rhythmic up and down against the mattress.
Sometimes I hit my head on the headboard.
It hurts.

I like to leave toys on the floor.
Maybe this will stop him,
give me some warning.

He gets mad.
It doesn't stop him.
I am powerless.

I am so alone.
If I had a little brother, I wouldn’t be alone.
Maybe then it would stop. Maybe.

I am so weak, he is so big.
I can’t fight back.
I have to give in.
I hope it ends soon.

Maybe he won't come back
next time.

I can’t breathe.
I have to try to breathe through my nose.
So hard.
I try to catch breaths when I can.

He is done.
I cough-up - hard.
Slimy gross.

The smell,
the taste,
he wipes me down.
Removes the evidence.

I cry myself back to sleep -
But I can finally breathe.


(me at age 3)
Last edited:


((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( NC-Survivor )))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Fabulous poem!
I'm so sorry.
It staggers the mind to know how many other boys tell similar stories.

off topic ...

When I look at your pic I always smile.
You look like such a little rascal :)

They used to call me "L'enfant terrible" ... the terrible child. :p
I was a handful and a pest and my older sister routinely tried to kill me ...

If I'm right you and I would have been great friends ... and a menace to the peaceful existence of everybody in sight.
Hey NC {{{{{{ HUGS }}}}}}

I’m Speechless. Please take the memories slowly.
Last edited:
Hey Kal

I just want you to know that your picture is the face of a happy young child. I also know that that face should have looked like that throughout your childhood. It's too horrible that I know how that face changed with "7" and below. That poem is supposed to be mine and so many others here on MS. The crazy part is that what you explain with ..."7" is what I thought about myself as love. I had no love from my foster parents. I had love from someone I call papasan starting when I was ten. which lasted through my teens, the USAF, and until I left the game at 24 and moved away to where nobody knew me.

The only part of my life before the age of 9 was when my foster parents went to look at the house they were building out on Long Island. So every Saturday from when I was 8 years old until we moved when I was 9 we went out to see how the house was coming along. I had made a friend with someone my age named Lanny and my foster parents would let me stay with him while they would go visit their relatives. Lanny's sister took pictures of us and sold them to the boy magazines. My foster parents moved to the new house on Long Island when I was 9. Now I'm working on my life before that move. Reading and re-reading what you went through with "7" and below, along with your poem, has brought forth memories that I now have to sort through. One thing that does come out is that I don't think that time in my life was very nice.

Sending you Love, Peace, and enough magic to make it all happen.