The Girl No One Wanted
Poem by Jazmine J. Perry
Based on a true story
Dedicated to Theresa J. Houghton.
The lawyer told her, she was the little girl no one wanted all those years ago she is transported back to three years old
The three-year-old girl who remembers her dad bringing in crab, White scarf, naval clothes, coming home
The little girl who was dumped in Newquay, Had No-Idea That, she’s the child no one wanted
On the naval ships passing by the sands of Plymouth, The Father who left, not just one but five, All three young girls are in a naval children’s home. His wife with another His children with no father or mother Writes home in sweet poetry to his girls, Wishing them sleep and no harm from others
He never came back like the waves passing by, He’d move on to different shores with another whore, And wouldn’t think twice
She was only three, she didn’t understand.
When she grew up, she didn’t have a plan, The plan was to survive
Five different places, Five different homes,
Newquay, Parklands, Whitley, And Bristol with the Nuns.
Nowhere where she truly belonged.
Parklands was the worst of them all,
10 Brunel Terris, scariest of all
Shoved between the door and wall, They hit her like never before,
On the back of the head, Where the bruises were hidden, Behind hair
She was just a kid
They cut her hair, Boyish clothes, She picked ants from cereal, And wished for a home
Her sister, chucked into a mental home, When hurling a metal wheelbarrow at a worker, Who caused her little sister harm
Knocked out, hitting her head,
Smacking against the chunky radiator bars passed out.
In Parklands, things didn’t get better, At age eight, with roller skates, The ruthless beating for ripping a coat
The door and the wall, The place she’d get shoved and squeezed, An eight-year-old,
Thinking, why does this woman hate me?
The nightmare that came to follow, Whitley Children’s Home
A group of sisters, Bullies, Another reason to survive,
To want a stable home
Fighting with words, not just fists,
No little girl should endure this
Lancaster Gardens,
A foster home,
Mentally and physically tortured, Four years of hell
Mrs Chamming and Gordon Flo, Had no love to spare for
The child with no home
Working her fingers down to the bone,
To make them go easier,
To make them know, She’d have to check the other children’s poo
Pulled by the hair around the home,
Plucking greys from their skulls
Gordon poked and groped
Locking the bathroom door,
The lady banged and shouted,
Opening the door, and slaps her with the water
It hurts more to slap with wet hands
She was 15, Foster care again
In Bristol, with Nun’s
Pulled the wimple off her head, 12 months with them
Still no home or light ahead
Surely life Would, Should, Could improve for her, Couldn’t God hear her prayers as a child
When she came back to Plymouth, She met a man, She got pregnant
Sitting on the bus, She rubbed her stomach
Thrilled to think,
She had a child of her own
Eight months and one week, They were newlywed, And just when she thought this was happily ever after
He’d hit her and beat her for
All the years after
Two men in 47 years, Beat her, Left scars, Tears and years
The little girl who no one wanted, Ended up spending 13 years, In a crappy welfare system
Feeling unwanted
She just wanted love and a home, But never got it.
Only now, at 71, Is she with family and never without love.
I write this poem to let people know, That my grandmother had a shit life, No home,
No parents to call her own
This is a poem to let her know
That the three-year-old no one chose, Would have a story to tell, And a granddaughter to write it
To inform people of the welfare system and the children stuck inside it
It is plain to see things didn’t improve, But my grandmother pushed it back, And when I push and prod, You know she finds it hard
Because inside is a little girl who never got shown love
