I started reading about the impact of sexual abuse on adults who were abused as kids. So many things resonated. Many victims don’t know what to think about the experience, was it even abuse? Most don’t ever tell anyone, or seek therapy, they just live with it. Victims are more likely to have over 50 or more sexual partners in their lifetime. That made me want to throw up. Is that part of why I am the way I am? It makes me sick to my stomach. I thought I buried it? I thought I put behind me… I moved on. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen right? I tried to write about it – and I don’t know why but it was hard to string together paragraph after paragraph of something I didn’t want to talk about. So tried a little poem instead even though it’s very teenage angst. haha – it is what it is…
SELF I was six, I couldn't comprehend his touch I just knew, it wasn’t right, it was too much It doesn’t matter because he asked, and I obeyed I was a good girl, but it would never be okay At home, the word no wasn’t allowed Little me, always did what I was told He was a friend, family, someone I trusted Yet, refuse and be hurt or worse, rejected So, I let my self be exposed and violated I am still so disgusted Your cousin’s touch, your dad’s temper, your mom’s reluctance The end of that equation; an unworthy existence I grew up; tried to pay with the only currency with worth My body, take all you want, destroy it, bury it in the earth Merciless damage in the most violating ways I lost my self; content to be numb and dazed Now, no one holds power over me; no one is allowed in And I'm trapped too; clawing, I can't escape my own skin The delicate core once safely held deep inside I let it die, dense, charred, solid carbide I built a cage around it I changed the locks and threw away the key No one deserves it anyway Least of all me