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(Don’t) Call Your Abuser For Help

Ridiculous, right?

If someone who hurts you

Is your only source of assistance

You’re screwed

The sometimes abuser

The sometimes not abuser

Is the worst mental screw up

Flip the coin

Heads – a beating

Tails – laugh it off, jocular clap on the shoulder

Roll the dice

Snake eyes – a beating

Two – a whipping

Three you get slapped

Four is no big deal

Five is restrained

Six is a near death experience

In a world where the roll-the-dice scenario

Is what black and indigenous and people of color

Can expect from officers of the LAW

(Who should be protective of everyone)

(Who sometimes abuse their power)

(How often? How far do they go?)

For them to have to ask for help

Because domestic violence

Because missing child

Because murder

For them to have to ask for help

From people with a higher percentage

Of hurting them rather than helping them

Compared to other people

That ask is traumatic

That call is too much

It must be made any way

Let’s go back to this

Missing Child

Let me say that again because

A lot of kids are going missing

This is a crisis, because they are disappearing

But they are not disappearing RANDOMLY

Someone is taking these children

And the families are crying and pleading

And hoping and grieving that someone will help

And they have to call the department that killed

Their cousin

Or their uncle

Or their friends friends dad

Or their sister

And the department that is full of humans

(Dispensing tickets and collecting fines)

Who are working to pay their bills

(Protecting corporate property)

And maybe they are and maybe they’re not racist

(Maybe a little bit racist)

Are working for a system that doesn’t pay too well

(hazard pay and inventory perks)

That is full of politics and finagling and good ol’ boy

(Mayor’s birthday party cheer)


And here comes a defund the police activist

(along with the guilt)

A protect the water protect the land activist

(now Officer Woebegon is feeling defensive)

Filing a missing person report

And *yawn*

Maybe Officer Cush Job Traffic Ticket Dispenser

Doesn’t pass it on to the Detective

And Detective Looked Nowhere misplaced the file

And maybe they make jokes about lost kids

And runaways

And maybe they laugh and look under their paperwork

“Nope not here”

And maybe they know that the child snatchers

Are connected

Well connected

Too well connected

And it’s a fast track to job loss

Or sudden death on the job

From a perp who got away


A fast track to truth

No heartbeat

Officer Down

And so they tolerate being called

Racist lazy biased bigots

Keep their heads down

Jockey elbows and make jokes

But the laughter doesn’t reach their eyes

And they clear the lies out of their throats

Before they speak

And the FBI and the Homeland Security

And the US Marshalls

Shrug because it’s not their jurisdiction

Even if it is


Tribal land you know


City cops state cops sheriffs got this

(they do not got this)


And the media doesn’t post the photos of the lost

if you knew

If you only knew how many

Faces of the lost there are

5 years old, 7 years old

15 years old

19 years old

30 years old, 60 years old

Gone gone gone

Families broken hearted

Their grief never ends

Who will help them?

Who do they call?

The man in uniform who raped that girl

The woman in uniform who slapped that kid

The ones in uniform who looked under their paperwork

For a child

And laughed

I see you

And maybe someone took the job an idealist

Maybe thinking ideals are strong enough

And maybe the department clique

Creates a slippery slope

Of fudging the rules here and there

Until the new guy the new gal is

One of them

With enough little wrongs

With enough grey areas

Enough camaraderie

That loyalty can become

A form of restraint suffocating ideals

Until they can’t breath

Now the hero in the uniform

Is no better than the thief he she they stop(s)

He She They lack self respect

So they demand it of the UNIFORM

Respect my job

I am my job

I am the LAW

But they know and can never forget

How they slid down the slope

(How they justified)

Slid with their brothers and sisters in arms

Straight into a pool of blood

Sometimes they bring justice

But sometimes they bring retribution

Flip a coin

And pray for mercy

There’s no one else to call

Photo by Jeff Weese on

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