Hope – A poem selected by Dorothy

The poem below is one I read a while ago and one I have shared with Tatiana, I hope you enjoy it.

Best wishes

Dorothy xxx



My pessimistic friend says that I am a joke

That I am too optimistic because I am called Hope

We were once ‘one’ before but he made a choice one day

To remove me from his life, now he lives in a hope-less way

He blames me for the pain and misery he suffers from all the time

I have tried to tell him to change because his choices are his not mine


You see I am what is considered a good thing

I have lost count of the many joys and anticipated blessings I bring

There are so many people that look forward to a brighter day

So I am constantly called upon to show them the way

I work hand in hand with a wonderful loyal dedicated friend

His name is Faith and he is strong, resilient and does not bend


All good things come in threes so I am told

That probably explains why we have a third partner who is so glorious and bold

He is the greatest of the three of us, full of passion and so strong

There is nothing He cannot do, and when you repent He forgives your every wrong

His name is Love and He is truly the Great of great

Our mission: I, Hope, have Faith and with Love we operate



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Tatiana – My life before my hell in America!

Once upon a time I was more than just a 15 year old sex slave!

Once upon a time I had a life, a home and parents who loved me!

I was born in Czechoslovakia.

My parents, Jakub and Katerina were schoolteachers in a small town not too far from Prague. My father, he taught History and my mother she taught English. When I was born my country was under a communist regime and had been for many years. I would sit at my father’s feet and listen to him talk about my country and how the Czechs and the Slovaks united to form the country despite the cultural, historical and religious differences they had. My father was so proud of my country and would talk and talk about its history, my mother on the other hand loved my country but not the communist regime.

What are my earliest memories of my home? At three or four years of age, I remember the green grass of summer and the fresh fruits. I remember running in a field near our home and thinking that I was running to the end of the world because the field was so big and no matter how fast or how long I ran, I never got to the end of it (looking back, I must have been running in circles). I don’t recall many children in the area I grew up in. I had no cousins that I visited; there were no grandparents who visited us. My parents seemed to live a life where they were the only person in each other’s life and I was part of both their lives. At three or four I didn’t notice how isolated we were because my parents were sufficient for me.

When I was seven years old my mother had a baby girl. She was given the name Tereza and she was like a little fat ‘moving’ doll who ate and ate then slept and I loved her. I couldn’t wait for her to grow up so that we could play. For some reason I thought that she would grow up and I would remain the same age then we would both be seven and would play outside in the green field together. Why did I think this? It is strange looking back that I would think this – they say innocence is a buffer that protects you from harm.

Life, while I waited for Tereza to grow up, was the same. My parents loved us both equally and they showed their love openly. I spent time with my father learning about the history of my country and other countries of the world while my mother took care of Tereza. I loved learning new English words and I loved listening to my parents talk about life in countries like America and England. They would speak in English mixed with my language and I would grasp hold of a new English word spoken and add it to my mental dictionary. You see I had a plan. My plan was to learn as many words as possible so that I could use them when I grew up to teach. Even at a young age I had dreams, I knew I wanted to become a teacher like my parents, marry a man like my father and be happy like my mother.

I had dreams . . . None of my dreams included being brought to America and forced to have sex with nearly twenty men a day before my sixteenth birthday! Men look at me now, after they have used my body, as if I am rubbish, trash, not worthy of breathing the same air as them. Sometimes I wish they would look at me that way before then maybe they would leave me alone. These men don’t know me or know about my dreams. They don’t care that I once had a life, a home and parents who loved me.

Once upon a time I was more than just a 15 year old sex slave!

Once upon a time I had dreams!


Excerpts taken from ‘Blood Borne Connections’ by Gladys Lawson


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