24/06/2025
His name is called.
Courtroom number one.
Sitting here waiting—
wondering what’s to come.
My daughter’s ra**st, is right there.
Feelings are almost too much to bear.
Someone she trusted, thought was a friend—
Now she wants her life to end.
So many breaches of bail done,
while she spends her days feeling numb.
No regard at all for the law
My baby girl curled up on the floor
Youth Court judge—hands are tied.
I sit here with anger bubbling inside.
Another court date. We are here again.
Hearing more breaches, feeling more pain.
Listening as his crimes are read,
so many more tears quietly shed.
Who knew it would drag on this long,
making it harder to stay strong?
After two long years, it's sentencing day.
Terrified of what they'll say.
“I sentence you to six years”—
relief, brief music to our ears.
But wait—
what the hell did I just hear?
This surely can't be fair!
The lawmakers must be having a laugh—
the discounts take it down to half.
Even worse, what we next heard
the law erases another third.
Six years down to only two—
how can that even be true?
The man who r***d my baby girl
takes his sentence to the Court of Appeal.
High Court judge—decision reserved.
Will he get the time he truly deserved?
Or will he be set free?
How long must we wait to see?
Then—up for parole. It doesn’t seem real.
This process keeps stealing what time won’t heal.
No rehab done, not even started—
we are left so brokenhearted.
Parole denied. He’s locked away.
But still, his freedom ticks closer each day.
Then—the appeal decision lands at last:
DISMISSED.
Oh thank god—that’s passed.
But it’s still not over—we’re not yet free.
Parole boards now a guarantee.
Every few months, we brace again,
to fight like hell through the hurt and pain.
And always there, beneath the strain,
the fear he’ll offend again.
We want to protect others too—
we fight to stop what he might do.
Me and my girl, through hell and back,
stood tall with a system that constantly cracks.
So bloody tired, emotional drain
But we went into fight
Again and again
