I cannot help but regard my childhood as painful, A great deal of which, I cannot recall. Forced to play piano, Forced to learn to sing and dance. I rebelled and refused the lessons. It started, five years old, My mother told me she wished I had never been born. It is only now that I think "What a thing to say to a child." I would have to eat my meals with my brother, In another room, away from Mum and Dad. They had no time for us. I didn't know what to feel, It must be my fault that they don't want me, That I shouldn't have been born. I would lie awake at night and await my father, Wait for him to come and see me, touch me. I would hope that he would come and see me soon, So that I could go to sleep. Light from the corridor crept in beneath my bedroom door, The room dark, except for that narrow bead. I would begin to tremble at the sound of footsteps, Becoming louder as they approached. Shadows of feet would appear in that narrow bead of light. My trembling increased, as I hoped they would move away. The door begins to open, I feel sick and pull the bed covers over my head, Silent tears, unable to swallow. Lying there not knowing whether this could not be right. But was this how a father gave his love? Then it was over, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He would turn and quietly say "Remember who feeds you." "Remember who buys you clothes." Remember who gives you the roof over your head." The knife is buried deeper in my pain. In the bathroom I would hear movement overhead, My father in the attic spying through a secret hole, I could feel his eyes as I bathed. Then he would come into the bathroom, And it would begin again. I kept out of the bathroom as much as possible, I could not understand my emotions during that period. It is only now that I can recall the way I felt. I cry so much, unable to undo the past. Unable to know what parental love is. I left home and, I would sleep wherever I could. I would sleep with men just to get shelter for the night. Social Services gave me help by returning me home. Their disbelief added to my hatred. I didn't take my A levels, I didn't achieve my aims. I ran away for good, it was hard, so hard, to cope with. My friends were doing well, They were happy. Nut now I am free of my father's torture Free to live how I please. I visited my parent's house 20 years later. They were on holiday, my brother still living at home. The house looked bleak, and my room looked the same as the day I left. I looked for the bathroom spy hole, It was still there. I shivered and felt despair rise within me, As the memories flooded back. I am on my own, no family, My brother seems disturbed, Still under their spell. I am a survivor, But sometimes I wish could die.