Abused children weigh so little that we fly out of hand. They are so light because they only know the cry, contempt, anger, uncertainty. They have never heard the words that make us grow and touch the sky with the fingertips.
swallows Abused children are numb to take shelter in a chestnut stand, trying to go unnoticed. They do not like attention. Dream of being invisible. They dream of going to sea and appear in the other side of the moon, where no one can hear their footsteps, when they wake up in the middle of the night to drink a glass of water.'s heart beats abused children shyly, as if afraid to break, but not tired of spinning dreams. Abused children dream because his chest was ambushed a poet, who fire their imagination with beautiful stories of beloved children, children without fear, children playing with kites and paper dragons. Abused children dream come home and find his room full of streamers. Dream of hearing his name, undulating like a sea horse from foam and sea shells. Dream holiday noisy where his name is not a bang, drawing gall cracks in the walls, but a verse that repeats itself, celebrating its presence in the world.
Abused children fleeing the cities. Flee wet streets, fleeing from puddles yawning with boredom, fleeing the steps that will come up short legs and ringing shrilly. Abused children tremble with terror when rough hands off the light in your room. Look up and the roof begins to fill with witches and goats, throwing eerie laughter. A flock of crows flapping its wings and a toothless ogre walking down a fetid swamp water. Black rats were walk through the entrails of a dead horse and flies land on the eyes of a procession of blind, laughing at his stupidity to flush. The rooms of abused children are favelas, where you can hear the cries of a crowd hungry. The rooms of abused children are gigantic landfills, which poison the air with impurities. Abused children cover their ears and stop breathing, avoiding much horror, but only manage to weave dreams ephemeral.
dream of enchanted forests. They dream of talking cats and squirrels with a monocle scrutinizing the bottom of a cup of tea, trying to find out what booking the future of these children have no future. The tea leaves are compassionate and talk about the China Sea. They speak of a ship is inclined to knock down their sails on the water. They talk about the confusion of wind, helplessly observing as they leave behind, with the messy hair and red cheeks. They speak of the seagulls waking dealing with the foam. The foam is stretched with sleep eyes, but then rising as glaciers white walls. Sliding white walls where spiders and centipedes that frighten children abused in countless nightmares. Infinite nightmares return again and again, like a bird does not get blind navigate the thicket. Nightmares made of fear, pain, impotence. Nightmares with black teeth and yellow eyes.
Abused children dream and dream relentlessly. I dream that the soul weighs like a stone. Dream because their screams are lost in old pipes. Dream because their eyes have been used to evade the gaze and not want to deal with slender hallways as guillotines, where a bevel-shaped blade rides on the edge of a precipice. Dream because they know they can lose his head. They do not want to be sad children decapitated. They just want to relax under the Pole Star, avoid the Cape of Storms and lie on an island with thousands of penguins, which will teach tricks.
Abused children are not happy in school. Always occupy the last banks, embarrassed by his tendency to stutter. If you talk to other children, only happens say goodbye. Abused children have blackened faces like chimney sweeps and write terrible spelling, always undecided between B and V. The B and V are as unfriendly as a teacher with golden ribbon and impertinent. Abused children draw, but never retain what they do. After looking at it, break it into pieces, it is unable to create anything beautiful. Abused children often end up in jail. They are not restless, he always had the feeling live between walls, with a bare bulb singe a hair.
Abused children stroll through our dreams. We talk, but do not understand what they say. Shout, but his voice sounds so far away that we wonder if we really come to us. Sometimes children do not appear, but beaten dogs who hesitate in the doorway, begging for a gesture of tenderness and a little bread. "Abused children often commit suicide. No time is more sad. At no time is terrible. Monsters leave the bowels of the earth and begin to walk through valleys and plains.
convert their foul footsteps grass smoking ash. Depths spew their filthy sea creatures. The heavens open and coughing like a sick evicted. The roses are transformed into clots that clog arteries of the air. The trees bend dismayed, to dig up their roots and teach that eternity can be a crown of thorns. If you do not save abused children, there will be no salvation for us. Humanity is lost in a frightening blackness.
If we do not save abused children, we have no shroud of indifference and neglect. God is an abused child and still waiting for someone to dispel their fears. Your scars will not heal until he has abused and no one can mistake the sound of waters choked with tears of the innocent, hiding her face in her hands. When that day comes, the sea will tremble with joy, the stars refuse to sleep and the sun and moon dance a waltz on a sky that will copy each of his movements, laughing at the skeptics who never believed in paradise and dreams.
If you are an abused child, think I wrote this for you. The words do not live in dictionaries, but in the trees, waiting for someone to eat them and find that the penalty is less bitter when you have in your mouth the dawn, hope and tenderness.
Source: http://www.diariodealcala.es/articulo_c/general/2111/los-ninos-maltratados
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