Don't Call The Police

I was sexually abused by 4 men from my mother's high-control religion. I wrote this song as a reflection of my traumatic childhood.

Morning Goes Again

I walk the lonely road back to the place where I dwell

It's not my abode, this is the edge of Hell

I wished I didn't have to grow alone but my brother's darned and dead

And I feel a hole, and I feel a hole inside of me

When morning goes again

I don't even have a friend

When morning goes again and you're leaving

How can I tell if I'm alive or am I even breathing

My mama's so cold and my dada's not in this home

When morning goes again, I don't even have a friend

Who I can tell, not now but when

I can't stand the way you beg so I must let you in

Every time I pray, yet this is still a sin

It all seems unreal to me so I question if it may be a dream

But I know it's true, but I know it's true I hardly sleep

When morning goes again

I don't even have a friend

When morning goes again and you're leaving

How can I tell if I'm alive or am I even breathing

My mama's so cold and my dada's not in this home

When morning goes again, I don't even have a friend

Who I can tell, not now but when

When you touch my body it sends shivers down my spine

Have I gone crazy, is this an evil sign

Are you a fiend casting a spell on me that makes me lost in love

Can I get some help, can I get some help cleanse me of lust

When morning goes again

I don't even have a friend

When morning goes again and you're leaving

How can I tell if I'm alive or am I even breathing

My mama's so cold and my dada's not in this home

When morning goes again, I don't even have a friend

Who I can tell, not now but when

*****

My family worshipped with that religious group at a stadium without regard to the body of a sexually assaulted child discovered in the bushes outside, before the morning session of the second or third day.

At age 13, I was sexually assaulted by a 23-year-old who detained me at his house for 6 days and 5 nights. After I told my nagging brother, he then told my mother, and she took me to meet the elders, who instructed us not to involve the police.

The elders interrogated me and prompted my abuser to cross-examine me. His mother wasn't called as a witness to testify about what she thought when she repeatedly came home to her condo and was met with two locked gates, two locked doors, a detached son, and a visibly disheveled 13-year-old.

No one questioned the unusual coincidence that the abuser took his vacation from work at that time or why he availed himself to babysit me. Or why a babysitter, since no one had ever involved a babysitter before?

But the investigations resulted in my tarnished publisher’s record card in the hands of other abusers who repeated the predatory cycle and used their authority to perform further judicial abuses.

Today, 2 of my abusers work and live in very close proximity to schools. 2 of them were married to women who bear a striking resemblance to me. I, however, am called a racist by members of my own family who chose to support the abusers' agenda, as my trigger response is to reject suitors who possess the abusers' looks.

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