I took in a 16-year-old girl for six months who'd been raised in an abusive family. I may not have done a perfect job, but at least she wasn't being hit or yelled at, wasn't out on the street.
I wrote a poem for her to help her sort stuff out. I think most of us have our tale of woe of some sort -- for some people, the tale is just worse. Virginia Satir said she thought four percent of families were functional, and her colleagues said she was too optomistic. That leaves 96 percent of us with "issues".
I'm totally serious about the copyright on this poem, AND you may use it for the purpose of helping any child, teen, depressed person, etc. No publishing it. The poem's after the bar.
Pain.
What to do with it?
Who to believe?
Pain.
Which way to go?
Go alone?
Go away?
Come back?
Pain.
Where to put it?
Run from it?
Wall it away?
Build a room and close the door
never to see it again?
How many rooms?
If I build them all, will there be
any space left for me?
What is behind the doors?
Pain.
Turn and face it.
Defeat it.
Shred it.
Walk over it.
Honor it.
Pain.
Bear it to build a self.
Embrace it to understand life.
Weave it to create a journey.