That social worker standing over there, has written a report about me,
but she doesn’t know anything about me at all,
she doesn’t know that I suffered a trauma when i was small,
She doesn’t know that I did’t have a mum and dad,
She doesn’t know that I was raised by my grandmother and grandad,
She doesn’t know that my grandfather was violent,
she doesn’t know that our screams were silent,
she doesn’t know that my grandad calls me a bastard child
He says that he hates me because I’m vile.
That social worker sees my squaller and my clutter,
look at me social worker don’t I matter,
No one, but no one hears my cry,
I am only ten but I want to die,
I wish that the angels would come and carry me away,
To a place where children are free and are okay,
My teacher canes me to teach me a lesson,
She never shows me any compassion,
my hands are blistered and sore,
my emotions are raw, my sprirt is broken my heart cries too.
That social worker don’t know that two young men, repeatly raped me when I was just ten, She doesn’t know that my foster father bites my face most nights,
Back then we did’t have any rights.
Now look at me social worker and not at my squaller and my clutter,
Now tell me social worker don’t I matter.by Dorothy Maude
I wrote this poem about five years ago I became quite ill when the young social worker from Havent social services wrote awful things about me. she was young over keen and ruthless, even the judge commented that she was far to Critical of me. I wrote a to the complaints team in winchester they told me to talk to her manager Jasmine Grimshaw. she was very unhelpful and told me that “I got what I deserved, in turn,it opened a can of worms for me and triggered off all the abuse that I had suffered throughout my childhood. This has led to me having mental health issues.