Molestation
34 creative works found
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Taken By A Man
by Adrena87ruffled red panties / urine’s pungency flairs the nostrils / little girl tries to flee the beast / why did he tear her with calloused hands?...
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Inspired by the childhood predator of one of my dearest friends… May those that harm children forever burn in hell’s hottest flames… Only we can make the lives of children safe… by protecting them them from those that prey on the young… When a child is sexually abused… it destroys your very soul… Trust me… I know. May God damn each and every person that steals the innocence from our most precious gifts… our children… May they pay the heaviest penalty of all… Condemnation to hell.
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inspired by one of my dear friend’s childhood horrors… May those that hurt children… rest in a fiery grave marked in the blood of their sin… and may their victims… those sweet lost-souled angels find peace in God’s eternal justice.
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Probably the most expressive piece I’ve ever done. The concept dealt with fear and revulsion at necessitation of child birth and conception and the social pressure to fill that role.
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The creature design and the subtext sell this piece for me. A lot of technique ideas were still developing when I did this so it’s not as mature as more recent works in that are.
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THOUGHTS OF MOLESTATION
by KEITH R. WILLIAMSTO THE THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE MOLESTED, AND RAPED. WHAT HAPPENS AFTER A WHOLE WORLD TAKES A DIFFERENT SHAPE
TO THE CHILDREN, ADULTS, WHO EXPERIENCED THIS MAY GOD GIVE U THE STRENGTH TO FORGIVE, AND FORGET
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Healing...
by DonnaMLife is changed forever, never to be the same
Inspired by: / “THOUGHTS OF MOLESTATION” / by Keith R. Williams why would someone do this to me? / don’t they know how much this will affect me? / for the rest of my life / my heart filled with pain, and strife / how could you steal my virginity? / don’t you know how special that should be? / did i do anything wrong? / why didn’t i listen when mama said don’t talk to strangers? / why am i filled with so much anger? / why didn’t i know i was in danger? / why did god let this happen to me? / all these questions flow / but there’s no answer for me all writing/art is copyrighted by the artist elite inc. 2008
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This painting was created with interior house paint on canvas / H26” x W50” / Black Matte Gallery Frame / 2007 / Original – 1800.00 / ON SALE NOW! 1000.00 “Faceless,” is dedicated to all the woman and girls who suffer injustices all over the world, and remain faceless to world. Although I created this image in 2007, and had titled it “Girls,” I didn’t fully realize what it meant until just this week. In the news, a husband kills his wife, by placing a plastic bag over her head, hangs her, and flees with the three children after countless please for help to local authorities. A father is convicted of keeping his daughter locked up as a sex slave for 24 years. Daughter now 42. Many females are enslaved, murdered, raped, tortured all over the world, and many more will remain faceless to us. Stop, think, and listen.
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Our Mirrors
by Adrena87seesaw creaks / in the distance / jungle gym twists / in the wind / little girls / hopscotching / into adulthood / with scars / deeper / than …
seesaw creaks / in the distance / jungle gym twists / in the wind / little girls / hopscotching / into adulthood / with scars / deeper / than gauze bandages / can heal / the will of the spirit / stronger / than the destruction / set on / condemning / innocence to / hell on earth / demons he / placed in their / hearts / dwell still / ghosts of his wickedness / continue / to abuse the mind / in the night / they fight / with strength / with denial / they cry / as women / silent tears / for the / broken children / reflected / in our mirrors
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Headmaster's Rope
by Adrena87grass stain smudges on white cotton panties / child’s play or hardcore evidence / fretting as she skips slowly home / her limbs heavy with g…
grass stain smudges on white cotton panties / child’s play or hardcore evidence / fretting as she skips slowly home / her limbs heavy with guilt / will daddy know he touched her / sense something is wrong / traces of spicy cologne fade on innocent thighs / coaxed wide / her insides twist and turn like forgotten garments on / grandma’s clothesline / freshly kissed tulips spread like butter coated with her / own version of strawberry jam / crusted on tender flesh / shhhhh / don’t tell daddy / he’ll never understand Copyright ©2008 Hannah Adrian Rogers
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please / don’t / hurt / me / i’m / just / a / little / girl / don’t / you / know / you’re / destroying / the / only / world / i have / don’t / you / realize / i’m / not / a / woman / yet?
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The Artist... Defined.
by Adrena87the adult in me is so tired of hiding… from the world… from myself… always feeling wrong when i’ve not done anything… feeling lik…
the adult in me is so tired of hiding… from the world… from myself… always feeling wrong when i’ve not done anything… feeling like a loser more often than not… knowing that the little girl inside is good… has always been good… deserves more of a life than what i provide for her… breaking the emotional tapes repeating day in and day out of how she’ll never be enough… for anyone… even me. i get so tired of masking all of the pain… even though i scream enough times… so loudly in my brain that i know it resounds in the ears of all that dare to listen… somehow the ghosts won’t go to the light… so i fight each day… to work through the pain… feeling better each time… thinking finally the fiends are exorcised or tucked away… only to find i must fight them again and again… in my walking nightmare… yet i know… that little joan of arc deep… shall win the finally victory. i will not be martyred… anymore.
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BEG
by BFosterBFAlol blah blah blah not good enough older slut that doesnt fit in sorri
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The Life of a Salesman
by Kristin ReynoldsI Swimming towards the point / of not breaking. In retrospect, / the lake was the most cunning, / with its murk and non-descriptive / ...
This is a poem about my preditor, some may say evil, Step-Father. I just say he was just a man who sells real estate. He changed my life forever.
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Well hey I didnt make that up thats what the sign says, Burrowing Owls are protected species here in Florida, in Cape Coral, Florida we have many Burrows, I can show you so many by where I live at they babies are growing so big, and are out, well enjoy the image and thanks for taking a look…gina
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My Soul, is Freedom’s Journey
by Kristin ReynoldsBlowing through a vast crevasse – / from whirling tempest; / to calming balm on wounded skin; / to constant howl; / to sunlit kiss, onto war…
Ah. How to describe this? This is, quite simply, my past – or, the majority of it’s heaviness. So much. So many details. In short: my beautiful mother died at the age of 26, at the hands of a monster (AKA: the black-maker); tortured us beforehand for 2+ years on a daily basis (he was a dirty, dirty cop) which included molesting me for many years, years of which I have but 2 memories left after my brain erased my hard-drive to keep me from killing myself, most likely…the body knows what’s best. although, it would be nice, to have even one memory of my mother. she died when I was 7. She took her own life to escape him. / I have always pictured that little girl (me at 7, post her death) as sitting atop this pillar in a cave, bound and gagged, waiting for the adult me to come and rescue her…maybe someday I’ll be able to remember, and realease that girl of mine) / but for now, I take all of this as : A GIFT. and I mean that. ,my past is my gift, my present the reward. I harbor no ill-will against anyone. I forgave the man about 5 years back, in a dream actually, and my mother as well. / As I say, “I am the light-maker now”. So be it. I accept. With love and forgiveness in my heart, how could I do anything but shine for them?
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A carolina mantis who did not appreciate her picture being taken.
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Flashback
by Kristin ReynoldsTraveling backwards, / to that day; / those days – / those forgotten in mind, / remembered in heart days makes me sick. My body physica…
This is a follow-up poem to The Screaming Box. I wrote this a few months back. It is a very diluted retelling of how my mother came to die; and how it effected me in the process. / She killed herself…but would not have died had the man I call The Black-maker (as he killed my mom, took my innocence, and stole my memories…and so very much more) effected me. / it is a very personal poem. But felt like sharing…I may end up deleting it…you know how it goes. but right now, I feel like purging. thank you for indulging and reading. :)
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