Lucy Aponte was born in Spanish Harlem in 1946 of Puerto Rican parents. In 1953, Lucy and her younger siblings moved to the Fordham section of the Bronx with their paternal grandmother, Donia Lucia Benedetty Aponte. The grandmother had heard the children were abandoned, eating in the streets and stealing to survive. She was happy to go to her grandmother's in the beautiful Bronx and not have to scrounge for food, or fight off the perverts. She attended P.S. 85 and credits her first teacher, Mrs. Mahrs with instilling a love of reading and poetry in her. Ms. Aponte attended Jane Adams High School, graduating in 1963 and going on to nursing. In 1966 she became a Mom for the first time.

Through the years of raising her children, as a single Mom, Ms. Aponte attended the Herbert H. Lehman College, majoring in sociology, with psychology and education minors. Her dream of getting her degree ended with the governmet financial cutbacks in her final year. As a single parent, Ms. Aponte was a foster and adoptive parent for over 17 years of very special needs children. Through her childhood experiences, Aponte had a deep understanding of the emotional makeup and needs of these battered, bruised and traumatized children. She also set out to disprove the long held belief that an abused child grows to become an abusive adult. That is a stigma that is held over the heads of those who have been abused and adds to the silence about their experiences and further perpetuates the abuse through labeling.

Her years parenting children with autism, sexual abuse history, abandonment, schizophrenia, alcohol and drug abuse and various traumas, led her to become a creative parent in dealing with the related behaviors.

Ever the fighter for correcting an injustice, she became a child advocate, a great source of information for parents of children with disabilities, a tenant advocate, a community leader.

Today, Ms. Aponte has followed her passions as an artist, poet, writer and speaker, as well as some acting in productions, one which was based on her writings. Her work has been featured in Latina Magazine, the Village Voice, Daily News, Bronx Times, Bronx Cable Access TV's Bronx Talk and Bronx Magazine.

Ms. Aponte is the creator of an innovative early literacy program and tool and offers her "Creative Parenting seminars at various venues.

Her website can be found at


From the soul of a battered child
comes the pain that is held within.
Deep inside it lies, there, in wait
for the time when someone will read;
be it now, or sometime later.
It lies there, causing sobs to rise.
No one knows just from where they come
and she cries deep from within her soul.
No one knows just how much she woes.
She's so good at pretendmg that all is well
and that nothing's wrong
while the pain eats away at her.
No one can know how the slighest bite
from someone's tongue,
or a look that's most vile
can send waves of pain rushing through
to her soul.
Her heart will then break, again and again.
But, the look in her eyes will conceal
all the pain that's so real.
And her shy smile will belie the truth
of the burning deep in her soul.
As her heart breaks into bits
she will smile, as she's fading away
to the depths of her private Hell.


Those times that I grew dazed
and dreamt that I could fly
like birds on high:
I'd lift my wings above the trees
I'd touch the clouds
and feel the breeze.
It felt so good to be so free.
Away from all the world I'd see
all of the people far below.
They could not see me.
They did not know
that I was way above them, so.
All of the world I'd leave behind.
None of the Horror there was mine.
It felt so good to be alone
and have no one disturb my life.
But then,
I'd come quick, crashing down
when there my name was called out loud
an then, Reality did come
and then, oh well,
my life was gone!


My party's getting further away.
The boys and girls are vanishing.
He's looming larger,
coming closer, dark face, bigger
smile is broader
gold tooth shining.
He's big, I'm just sixteen.
"Get away, don't touch me!"
"I hate you!"

Party's getting further away.
He's looming larger.
"Don't Touch Me!!!
"I Hate You!!!"
"I hate you, with your gold-toothed smile!"
"Get away!"
"Don't come near me!"

He approaches, getting closer,
smiling broader.
"I Hate Your Smile!"
"Hate your friendship with my Father"
"Hate the trust that you betrayed."
"I Hate You Man, cause I'm a girl"
"Don't want a man, I'm just a girl!"
"Don't touch me, Father's friend!"

I'm nauseous, I feel sick, I'm shivering.
My pary's gone.
Gone to the Hell that you have brought!
You ruined my party.
You took away the little joy
I could have had.
"Go, ugly man!"
"I Hate You!"
My party's gone away.


Did you think
that I'd forget,
the things you did,
the things you said?
You lashed at me
without a care.
You tore my flesh
and stabbed my soul
Your words ripped through my heart.
You called me names
I did not know.
How could you do this
to a child?
I never did a thing to you.
I wanted Love,
I wanted Warmth,
all I got was Hate and Pain.
You hurt me to
my very Soul!
How could you thingk that I'd forget?
I can't forget.
I want to cry.
I lost my childhood.
with you, it died!
I can't pretend that you, I love.
I can't forget!
I can't forget!

[The insults by adults who wanted me out
of the picture are still embedded in my brain]


In my mother's eye
I see a cold, unfeeling look
as she gazes on her child;
the one she gave its llfe to,first.
It's strange to see that look, so odd.

You'd think that In her eye would be
a look so soft and so serene,
to gaze upon her first-born child,
after so long, she has not seen.
But, then again, where is it writ
that mothers have to love their child?

Who knows from where the love begins,
or how the glow, comes to the eyes.
I know, that When I gaze on mine,
I feel the love that warms my heart
that brings the glow within my eyes.
I'm glad it's there,
that it's not cold,
when I behold my first-born child.

[This poem was in response to an incident
in which my mother and I bumped into each other
and she had a distant look on her face.]


I see the Belt slash
through the air
And where it strikes
It does not care
that it will tear my flesh to shreds
Or come down at me
`til I'm dead.
The blood that drips
from it, you see?
Falls to the ground
so silently.
Unlike the screams that still resound
In my own ears and in my head
Until I'm dead!
Until I'm dead!


I wish to be alive in Peace
Alive in Love and not in Pain
wish to be some someone's Love
Feel the warmth of some one's heart,
I wish to be some someone's thought
Not be lost in space when gone.
If I could be somebody's Thought,
or Love, or Smile
What would I give to know of that.
If I could be at least
a thought resting in someone's gentle dreams
bring a smile to someone's lips
and warm their heart
and touch their soul.


I have lived a thousand years
in this life-time
filled with sadness, sorrow, pain.
I have spilled a million tears
on this land,
`til the rivers need no rain.
I have given all of myself
`til there is no more to give.
I am weary, tired of giving.
Now it's my time to receive.


I believe there is tomorrow
and that there, I yet may find
that there is, yes something waiting
just for me to turn that corner:
far away, so distant being.
But, if I keep right on walking
and I do this for myself,
I will get there,
maybe later.
But, I'll get there

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