Poems from a Boy Who Survived
by John Culbertson
Long before I was known as a professional psychic, a spiritual guide, or a mentor—
I was a wounded, wild-hearted boy with nothing but a keyboard and the belief that words could save me.
In my late teens and early 20s, I volunteered at a site called Teen Advice Online. The platform is long gone, but many of my writings—my essays, articles, and poems—were left behind, stripped of my name, but not my soul.
Posted on their website under the name “TAO Counselor,” many of these poems have been stolen from me by others and reposted under names that were not mine.
I think it’s time they were returned—here, in my own voice, in my own space—so the world knows who wrote them.
These poems were born from real pain. Abuse. Depression. A desperate longing for peace.
They were my lifeline. My rebellion. My way of screaming into the void, “I’m still here.”
And now, they return home—to me.
🌈 The Rainbow of Equality
We are like a rainbow
united all in one.
Each one of us is special
born under the same sun.
But this world has some problems
that few can hardly see.
Hatred is a part of us,
but it isn’t meant to be.
Races clash together
each and every day,
for one reason or another
we all must have our way.
Before I end this tale
listen to what I say.
Please think of that lovely rainbow
and the unity of the individual way.
Think of how things would be
if we thought of each other as one.
Then think of that mighty rainbow
and realize hatred would be gone.
There would be no more fighting in this world,
nothing left to fear.
We would love one another
and hold each other dear.
🩸 The Truth About Abuse
“Daddy don’t!!” a little girl cried
as her father punched her in the side.
“I’ll be good!!” a little boy said,
but nine minutes later he was dead.
They are tortured, they are raped,
they are beaten by hate.
They struggle, they try,
their goal: to survive.
Some hunger, some thirst,
others hurt.
Through anger and pain,
some still remain.
They cry and they beg
“Don’t hurt me again!!”
It does no good…
they cannot win.
Depression soon starts to set in,
as they know it’ll soon be their end.
A belt strikes down as one cries out,
a father knocks his daughter about.
Blood flies from the face of this one,
tears remain in the eyes of her only son.
When will the violence ever end?
I truly don’t know… it’s really a sin.
In the emergency room more can be seen—
a child who has fallen and crushed his knee.
But there is more to this than what appears.
The real truth is, his father he fears.
In another town not far away
something else has happened, but the story’s the same.
This girl who appears to be only 8
was burned by her mother just out of hate.
I’ve really only just begun,
for now let’s talk about the mental end.
They’ve never known love and only felt hate.
They’ve never had a hug or were tucked in place.
There are scars in the mind that still remain,
long, long after they’ve felt the pain.
If you listen close you’ll hear them cry—
the terrible sound, which can’t be denied.
The sound of a child who needs your help.
It’s enough to make a human heart melt.
They will not survive on their own.
So why don’t you help them and pick up a phone?
Call the child abuse hotline and help one today.
In the future you may be repaid.
But the future’s not here, at least not yet.
Thousands of children are still under threat.
And until more people I can convince…
the abuse will continue, I’m sure of it.
So listen to me, the author of this.
Someone who’s been abused and has felt the effect.
I was beaten so hard I could no longer cry.
Then the razor cut deep into my side.
I laid on the floor, my blood here and there.
The door burst open and the police was there.
My parents were arrested and taken away—
the lady who called showed me love that day.
Did once in my life I hear my parents say
“I love you my darling”?
NO!!!
That’s why I’m speaking from a grave.
🕊️ Peace?! That Word
Peace? What is that 5-letter word
that is so powerful yet so unheard?
Peace? When does the world achieve
such a great feat?
In my time I may never know
the meaning of peace.
How can one like me learn such a word?
In this day and age it is so unheard.
How can one who only sees pain,
understand such a word that should be so plain?
Peace, a 5-letter word, no more no less,
I will search for this meaning and I will not rest.
Peace, what have I learned that this word means?
Listen close and you will see.
Peace is a word that we all search for,
it is in our hearts, it is knocking at our doors.
It is doing for others what is least expected of you,
it is being a brother or sister and staying true.
It is keeping your word as hard as it may be,
it is being honest—to you and to me.
It is not fighting with each other, but showing love instead.
It is holding on to our dreams and being the leader, not led.
It is making friends with those who have none,
it is being friends with both old and young.
It is listening to those who you think are no good,
it is them listening back when you showed no good.
It is saying sorry for our wrongs and mistakes,
it is forgiving those who say that word, no matter what we think.
It is loving and caring despite all others say—
if everyone was like this, then it would be the way.
Peace? This day and age may not know that word,
but I pray someday all will have heard.
Heard this 5-letter word that means so much,
and stopped all the violence that will soon destroy us.
Peace, so powerful and yet still so unheard—
I guess this day and age we are all slow to learn.
Peace, such a beautiful word…
too bad others are now dead for this word yet so unheard.
💧 Tears
Cry those tears, my little one,
and I shall wipe your face.
Cry those tears, my little one,
and come, let me tuck you in place.
Cry for those who were abused—
let their story not go untold.
Cry for those who have no tears,
and let me their spirits hold.
Cry those tears, my sister…
cry for me who’s not here.
Cry those tears, my brother…
please, when I’m not around, do not fear.
Cry those tears, sweet mother
who hurt me and didn’t even know.
Cry those tears, my mother,
for that son who tries to stay bold.
Cry those tears, my father,
whom I never seem to see.
Cry those tears for that son
who wishes his dad could be.
Cry those tears, grandma,
cry them please for me.
My strength is getting weaker—
I’m down on bended knee.
Cry those tears, cousins—
please do not forget me.
For time is drawing near, my brother,
when I will succumb to disease.
Cry those tears, my family—
please, in my despair, unite as one.
We all must hold together…
else hatred will have won.
Cry those tears, my friends—
know that I love all of you.
And even in my depression,
my love for you stands true.
Cry those tears, ye angel on high—
I pray now to all of you.
Cry for that peace and mercy,
for those, who like me, are feeling blue.
Cry for me, God up above—
cry, please, those healing tears.
For in my pain, I cannot forget
the love that you I fear.
Cry those tears, all who read—
cry for me and those like I.
We are the true survivors
of a deadly hated crime.
I have cried my share of tears,
cried for all that I wish would be.
But my tears are still now flowing…
so please… please… help those like me.
🌌 Closing
These poems are not just relics.
They are witnesses—
to my pain, my healing, and the fire that’s always been inside me.
If you’ve ever been silenced…
If you’ve ever felt erased…
Reclaim your words.
Reclaim your voice.
Reclaim your name.
I just did.
🜃 John Culbertson