Sometimes, it feels the more something happens- the less it should bother you; the more it happens- the less it should intrude in your dreams- make it so every time you close your eyes- all you see are nightmares; all you see is the stuff you never want to talk about; the pain starts somewhere deep in my body; it travels slowly- making sure to hit every surface; there are so many days- my whole world exists in this one single room; these walls become a confidant and an enemy; the sheets entangle me in all of the secrets they hold; this pain will always live in these walls- in this room; I can never seem to run far enough away- the truth will always follow me no matter what; I wear a key with the word strength engraved on it around my neck every day- in hopes I will one day feel the strength to build a house out of my bones; I hope to feel the strength bloom inside of me; I hope one day they will be able to see this strength; maybe then- they will no longer be able to hurt me; one day- I am hopefully going to look back on these moments- and see the strength was always with me- even when I did not feel it; this loneliness right now- is a boat stranded in the middle of the sea; it is the light at the end of a desolate road; but one day- this strength will be what is lighting that road; that road- some days I can see it so clearly; I am slowly working on building that road; that road is somewhere far far away; that road is home; and I am aiming straight for it.
I watch you make decisions about my body; we all watch them making decisions about our bodies; waiting until we leave the room; building mountains no body wants behind closed doors; what is the sense in a future- when your whole future could be decided by others; the night I was raped- my first thought was hoping he did not make me pregnant; he took my body from me and in an instant he could have left me in charge of another life; a life where I would be blamed if I did not see it through; he took everything from me- but in that moment I could have easily become the monster; I could have become the one who did something wrong; the one who will one day end up in prison longer than he ever will; I learned long ago to hide my body; because even when they are the ones who did something wrong; the blame will always be placed on my back; after they burn us- they will ask us where the scars came from; they will tell us we need to hide them; I have been hiding my whole life; sometimes- I get tired of always hiding; always being afraid of what is around the corner; the problem is- I have never learned how to not hide; the decisions about my body have always been made for me; I want to create a home out of my body; make it a home that does not belong to anyone else; build a home I am not afraid of; I learned long ago to not fight back; if I were to accidentally hurt the person who was was hurting me- most likely I would be the one in trouble; the system has always been built against women; the system has always been built in favor of white men; I watch you make decisions about my body; I want to fight these decisions- but there are so many days where I am just too tired; there are days where the system has been stacked against me so much- I do not even know how to begin fighting it; there are days where I am okay with hiding; but I will never stop fighting- in any way I can; I hope one day I will get my body back; I hope so many others will too; I hope the mountains will shrink; even if only a little bit; I watch you make decisions about my body; we all watch them making decisions about our bodies; yet we will continue to fight for our right to choose.
I am not quite sure who I am; I think I lost myself the second he touched me; I leave pieces of who I want to be- who I think I could have been- scattered around me; when they ask me- if this is why I am so quiet- I pretend not to be offended; I do not think that being quiet is the worst thing to come out of this; the thing I am learning about shame- is that it is something you do not feel- until other people tell you that you are supposed to; the therapist tells me I need to start talking more- when I ask her why- she replies with- don’t you want to be happy?- I cannot remember telling her that I was not; I never understood why me being quiet bothers others so much- why they think this is the root of all of my sadness; why everyone wants to fix me so badly- without even asking me if I want to be fixed; I do not need to be fixed; this is not something I blame him for; he did not do this too me; this is just who I am; it feels like everyone wants my shyness to be something inherited from the trauma- if it was inherited than I can work on changing it; somehow- even with being quiet- I have always been too much; the way it has always been too easy to be too much; I picture myself in another life; one where none of the bad things have happened; one where I never met him; when I picture this life- I hope I am still quiet; I hope I still get to be the one part of me I always knew I was supposed to be; I hope I get to still be the one part of me that was never altered by him- the one part of me that had nothing to do with him.
I have tried to send this part of me away- so I will never have to feel the weight of your disappointment tearing into my back; I thought if I was able to disappear- it might make you love me; this ghost floats through my body- floats through every room I walk into; I am sorry I am filled with the wrong kind of love- the second I came out I knew I would be spending the rest of my life chasing your forgiveness; I do not think there is anything more painful than having to live a life where you never get to be who you truly are; I never wanted this sadness to build a house out of my body- to call my bones its refuge; I never wanted to be gay in a world where to be anything different is to ask for a death sentence; whether it be by my own hands that end it- or someone else’s; I beg my limbs for forgiveness- tell them I need someone else to help me carry the weight of all of this pain; I have never known a sadness to be so heavy; I have never known a love to be so light.
I practice saying: I forgive you- in the mirror over and over again; I do not really want to forgive him for everything he did to me- nor do I really have to forgive him; but sometimes forgiveness helps with survival; sometimes it is the only thing that will keep your heart beating; I imagine what it would be like to not be a victim; I question if I am even a victim at all; I talk to the moon in the darkness of the night; lay all of my secrets bare for her; the world is falling apart around me; I feel it falling apart within me as well; I dial the number to the rape hotline- hang up after the first ring; how can I describe to someone else what I am feeling- when I am not even sure what I am feeling myself; I dial again- hang up on the second ring- because I know they will ask me the question I dread the most; the question every single therapist and counselor I have ever spoken to has asked me; the question that always brings the conversation to a halt; the question that almost always makes me want to hang up; the question- what can I do for you in this moment- is there anything I can do right now to help; the simple answer is- I do not know; I do not know what I need- or what I want- or how to live one more second in a mind that seems so determined to hurt me; I do not know how to get to safety- or where it lives- or how long it will take to get there; I look down at the number once more; hover my finger above it for another few seconds; turn off the phone; look up at the moon- beg her to please watch over me tonight; I whisper- I forgive you- over and over again; as I will sleep to come save me; I am not sure if I am begging for forgiveness for myself; or if I am still trying to forgive him.
It was supposed to be some sort of an apology; it started out as an apology-but somewhere along the way it turned into a list of things that is wrong with me; the sink has been dripping throughout this entire conversation- the longer the conversation goes on- the louder the sink seems to drip; you are getting closer and closer to me; your breath is hot on my face- and I cannot pinpoint the exact smell- but I do not like it; I am staring at the wall behind you- it is not particularly interesting- but it is better than staring into your eyes; a flicker of flames seem to be dancing inside of them; in this moment your eyes hold so much hatred; I do not remember ever seeing love in your eyes; I am sure it was there at some point- but it must have been long ago; thunder is rolling in the distance as wind whips across the trees; I do not see a way out of whatever this is; I can feel my lip quivering; I berate myself in my head for showing even the slightest sign of weakness; like an animal- I know you can smell fear.
The world collectively goes to sleep- as my nightmares cast shadows on the walls; tonight- the same as so many other nights- I am completely alone; last night- I dyed a strip of my hair- hoping to reclaim a part of myself; tonight- I will dye another- hoping this tiny act of rebellion will help me claim my body back; it is funny- yet not funny at all- that the only thing separating me from him- are these streaks of blonde and blue throughout my hair; the only thing separating me from him- are my tattoos and my piercings; because in all of these- I had a choice; choice- the most important thing a human can have; while the world falls asleep- I will be planning out the next way I will be able to make a choice about my own body; I will watch as my nightmares play out in front of me; tomorrow- I will belong to no one and everyone.
*April is an important month to me. Not only is it National Poetry Month, but it is also Sexual Assault Awareness Month. These two events collide in my world in an unfortunate way, but I am taking that pain and turning it in to something, that I hope in a way, can be beautiful. I am also taking control of what happened every time I write a poem. I know that what I write is not for everyone and I respect that, but I hope people can respect me and understand why I am writing these poems. Thank you to those who read and support my poetry and have nothing but positive things to say.*
Tonight when I cry the whole world will fall to its knees; tonight everyone will know the pain I feel; behind these walls I know I am nothing- but I try to pretend I am everything; when I cry tonight I will not promise myself this will be the last time; there is no shame in crying; no shame in reaching deep into yourself and prying out the broken; when I cry- do not tell me everything is okay- because nothing is okay right now; right now- my body needs to fall apart- in order to put herself back together; tonight- my body belongs to me- I will cherish every second she belongs solely to myself; the walls surround me; create a false hope of safety; the world outside is so big; behind these walls I know I am nothing- but I try to pretend I am everything.
I have been thinking a lot lately about time and how as a society we are always on the go. We hardly ever live in the moment or slow down and take in what is going on right in front of us. There is so much pressure to always be working hard and when you take a break or slow down for a bit I find I feel like a failure in some way because I am not working hard enough or because I need a break. I often find myself rushing from one thing to the next. One morning I was rushing through trying to get my morning started. I had taken out my dog, Ellie, I brought her back in and fed her and my cat, Fiona. I was trying to get my list of things I needed to do that day started, but when I walked by my bedroom I noticed Ellie was sitting on my bed trying her best to look out the window with Fiona. Fiona has no trouble getting up to the windowsill so she can look out the window, but Ellie can’t get up there on her own and she needs me to hold her there so she does not fall off of it (she is quite clumsy and has no spatial awareness). I had things that needed to get done, but watching Ellie sitting on my bed trying to see the little bit that she could through the window made me stop and slow down. I walked in to my room and asked Ellie if she wanted to look out the window. It is one of her favorite things to do and she knows what the question means. Immediately she started wagging her tail and running towards me so I could pick her up and put her up on the windowsill. It had snowed the night before and all Ellie and Fiona wanted to do was stare at the snow lying on the ground and balancing in the trees. I could see the joy radiating out of Ellie and it was coming from such a simple thing. This all made me stop and really appreciate just living in the moment and appreciating the small things. I know this all sounds so cliche, but I could have easily ignored Ellie and kept moving on with my day, but because I stopped and slowed down and gave her that little bit of joy, in turn, I was giving myself a little bit of joy. And time. And forgiveness. We can learn so much from dogs and in this moment I learned so much from Ellie. Sometimes, we need to just slow down and look out the window and find joy in even the tiniest of things.
Sometimes, the silence that lingers- says what we cannot; it holds a key to all of the unspoken words; the words no one wants to say; the ones we are too afraid to admit to ourselves; I know all about silence- it is where I am most comfortable; it is where I live most days; silence does not bother me the way it does others; I find comfort in it; I find myself in it; some think it is a bad thing I am quiet- and maybe it is; but it has never bothered me; sometimes others talk too much- some things are better left unsaid; I have learned to enjoy the silence; sometimes that is when you learn the most about others; you can see who others really are- when all there is- is silence.
I picture what could have happened when I told you the truth- my truth; the story that has kept a hold on me for as long as I can remember; I imagined the moment so many times; I wrote a narrative and created a character you would never be able to play; being upset at your reaction-was my fault really; I set you to impossibly high standards; my mind created a version of you that will never exist; when I told you the first time- and you hardly reacted- I should have just left it there; I should have buried the secret back down and never brought it up again; it was my fault really- for thinking you would rally behind me- when you never really cared for my presence in the first place- at one point you did though- which is why I tried to tell you the truth; I honestly thought you forgot I even told you; until one night you bring it up again; once again- it is my fault for feeling hopeful; my heart beating uncontrollably fast when I think you might try to help me; just the thought of you believing me makes the darkness feel less vast; instead- you ask me why I would make up something like that- why I would even say such a thing; I feel the darkness swallow me whole; that night I read a book- the main character tells her truth; everyone she tells believes her; everyone she tells wants to help her; at one point I started crying so hard I could not even see the pages anymore; when I finish the book I throw it against the wall- as the words- why would you make this up- echo throughout my mind; the first time I watched my body being taken I felt like I was not even in the room; afterwards, the pain I felt- felt like it could not possibly be mine; it felt as if it should belong to someone else; I now picture what I wanted to happen when I told you the truth; you listen to every word I say; you ask questions- but do not get angry when I choose not to answer; you tell me you believe me; when I cry- you just let me; you tell me you believe me; it is so good to finally feel at home.
The moon never apologizes for how much-or how little light she decides to cast upon the night; so I will learn from her and try to stop apologizing for the way I show up in my life; it was a Tuesday afternoon and I was crying; I was not crying from anything bad-for what felt like the first time in forever- I was crying from laughing so hard; we both started laughing and at some point it developed into tears and now neither of us can breathe in the best way; it is in these moments I realize the strongest things always make it through; there are so many days where the sadness camps itself inside of my heart and I cannot get her to go away; but the happiness is determined to push through; and when I really need her to show up- somehow she always does; there are bad things- but I am working on not letting it dictate the good; my happiness is all there is to separate him from me; he may have taken many things from me the night he took my body; but I will work on not letting him take it all away; I am standing in the middle of my new apartment- the one I worked hard for- the one so many people told me I would not be able to get- and I think of all of the people who have told me I would never be successful; I envision all of the nights where giving up seemed like the best option- sometimes the only option- and right now I am so glad I never gave up; I am learning there will always be people who will doubt your ability; there will always be people who want more from you than you are able to give; but in the end the right people will always show up; the right people will always be happy for you and support every decision you make; it is a Tuesday afternoon and the world does not feel like it is closing in around me; it is a Tuesday afternoon and I will accept the happiness and try to not diminish it; the moon never apologizes for how she shows up; and from now on- I will try to not either.
I live in a body that was never really mine; I count backwards from ten- try to find the number that will make all of this mean something; try to find the number that will convince me that all of this is okay; my assault is a story told in three parts; part one- your love is unconditional; you come to save me from the wreckage- you promise me you love me; you promise me you will not hurt me; I believe every word you say- even when I know better; part two- your anger begins to explode into small moments throughout the day; your dislike for me slowly becoming the loudest thing in the room; you tell me you know what is best for me; tell me you are helping me; you tell me I am always wrong- yet you still tell me that you love me; still promise me you will never hurt me; I still believe every word you say; part three- you steal my body from me- claim it as your own; when I feel you inside of me- I have to pretend to just not; I spend hours in the shower scrubbing away your touch; call a rape crisis hotline- hang up on the first ring; call again and again- only to just keep hanging up; I write down all of the reasons it is my fault; I ice the bruises- wash all of the wounds you left behind; try to call the hotline just one more time- but the fear and shame are just too persistent; the walls collapse around me- I see your face every time I close my eyes; there is a forgetfulness that takes over the memories- a wall that closes around my mind; I wish to forget every detail- yet I am fighting to remember any of the details; I call the hotline one last time- when the person on the other end reminds me I am not alone- I want to tell her that that is the problem- instead I just hang up; I check all of the locks three times; I look for the moon through my window- make sure she can see inside; I promise the moon I will make it to the morning; I follow the moon on my drive every morning; I thank her for getting me through another night; before I start my day- I count backwards from ten- try to find the number that will make all of this mean something; try to find the number that will convince me that all of this is okay- learn to accept- that maybe I will never be okay.
I trace the flowers planted out front; breathe in the love you once so seamlessly provided; it was just a spilled glass of water- yet always so much more to you; I return to the site of ache every night my foot touches the doorstep; I open the front door- careful not to keep it open for too long- for fear all of the bones of trauma that live here will tumble out; my body covered by the hands of your shame; I pray to the stars in the night sky- pray one day there will be a way out; behind these walls- only loneliness exists; I drown over and over again in the secrets I keep for you; I feel the ache between my thighs- the only proof I have you were ever here; my rib snaps in half; I offer you a part of it- I give you pieces of me in hopes it will feel less like you are taking all of me; guilt builds a home inside of my body- she invites shame to occupy every space you have not touched; when the blood comes- I will ignore it for as long as possible; the door to your love has been locked for a long time now; I follow the destruction you always leave behind; I carve more pieces out of my body for you; I spend nights scrubbing away your touch; to live in a body that has been raped- is to live with a silent ache only I will ever know is there; some of us can build a house made of stone- turn the trauma into strength; but what are you supposed to do- when the trauma seems to be breaking you- instead of making you stronger; what happens when you cannot build a house out of stone; what happens when you are simply too tired to rebuild what once was; how do you rebuild yourself- when you cannot follow the narrative everyone else has written; my body hollow and bruised; loneliness lives in every corner; I say goodnight- and I try to not mean goodbye; I watch my body being taken from me night after night; day after day; I watch the shame wash over me- she haunts me through every room I enter; my nightmares occupied by your face; I try to scream- but no sound ever seems to come; I cling to the idea that this is all just a dream- but the quiet ache always returns; I am bruised and broken; my soul damaged; I return to the site of ache- breathe in once- quietly push the door open- careful not to keep it open for too long- for fear all of my secrets- your secrets- will tumble out; my body always covered by the hands of your shame; to live in a body that has been raped- is to never fully own your body again.
We live with trust printed on the back of our hearts; drowning in all of your words hoping to believe the truth lies somewhere in them; your words left wounds; the same way your love does; it is not that I do not believe in your love; it is more that I stopped believing you when you told me you loved me; I think about your family often; I wonder if they miss you; or at least miss who you once were; but will never be again; I try to scrub myself clean of the memories of you; try to make all of the parts of me you have touched disappear; when the light comes shining in through my window just right- it almost does look like you love me; I do not know why I want you to love me; it would be much easier if you did not; it would be much easier if I would not let myself drown in all of the lies you cover me in; it is not that it always feels so impossible to fully love you; it is more that it feels like you want me to love you more than anything; yet you never want to reciprocate any of this love; I drag your love onto the grave site that sits on my heart; I worship the ghosts of the love that you were at one time able to provide; I wish over and over that you will one day turn back into the person you once were; I still drown in all of your words while I tirelessly search for the truth; believing it has to be hidden somewhere in there; no matter how far it is hidden- there are so many days where I am still determined to find it; determined to turn the wounds your love leaves back into anything else; I still look for the light to shine through just right- to prove the person you once were- still exists somewhere; even if it is hard to find.
This sadness is the gospel I worship every night; thoughts of ending it all race through my mind- more often than I would ever care to admit; I know too many people believe I choose this; there are so many days where I question whether or not I am making it all up; I worry what if I do like the suffering; maybe all of this suffering is what makes me interesting; I wonder what I would be without this sadness; what would happen if the trauma were to disappear; there are different things that make us whole; so many parts that make up who we are; what are you supposed to do when the parts of you that scare everyone else- make up most of who you are; I do not know who I would be without the skeletons of my trauma following me into every room I enter; the brokenness builds a home out of me; making me whole in a way others will never understand; when you have been broken for so long- sometimes it feels as if there is no other way too be; I am saying all of this to tell you- I am sorry if all of this is too much for you; I am sorry if my sadness makes you uncomfortable; I am working on building homes out of the happy moments; but it will take some time; the body has to build a tolerance to everything; and for now- my body is trying to figure out how to hold happiness.
Sometimes I feel the more I think about it the more control he has over me; if I pretend it never happened- maybe I can convince myself it never actually happened; no matter what the scars on my soul tell me; no matter how many nightmares I have; if you keep hiding from the truth- you might be able to convince yourself of anything; I convince myself that something else happened that night- anything else happened that night; except convincing yourself never really works- but what is the harm in pretending; what is the harm in ripping the truth out of yourself and throwing it into the ocean; hoping with each wave the truth of what happened will drown a little bit more; my truths cover the entire ocean floor now; when you swim in the ocean- be careful not to cut yourself on the shards of my secrets.
When I was 8 years old every girl in my class had a crush on a boy named Timmy; of course I said I did too- because the way they talked about him made it seem like he placed all the stars in the night sky; made it seem like if I did not like him- there was something wrong with me; I stared at him everyday of second grade trying to figure out why I could not see it; trying to figure out why I could not feel what every other girl so easily felt; that was the year I realized I was different; people do not always like different; from that year on I have buried myself so far into the closet there are days where sometimes I have to make sure that the door is still able to open; I have hidden this secret in the dark house of my bones and have let the shame of it nearly kill me; there are so many days I promise myself I will take this secret to the grave with me; from that year on I have become a girl who is made up of apologies; this closet keeps getting darker and darker; I cannot quite decide if I am more terrified of the dark; or the guilt and shame that always seem to come with it.
In another world- I think maybe this all would have made sense; in another world- I may have been strong enough to actually leave; I stand at the casket of your love- your love that never really existed- but I convinced myself it did anyway; your love that is now just bone ground into dust; I convince myself of a lot of things when I am with you; I will turn into whatever you want me to be- which I know is sometimes the problem; my sexual orientation is still the loudest thing in the room whenever I am with you; to you I represent all of the sins of the land; to love the way I do- is to throw flames into an already burning fire; I know you see this love as a sacrifice; you see me as the greatest burden to enter every room; I watch you fall; I watch the whole world collapse around us; yet I still do not know how to leave; I know there is another world- in which I am unfazed by the fact that you do not love me back; there is another world where you tell me you may never love me- I learn to not hope for anything different; I learn to not chase something that does not exist in the first place; the thing I am learning about this love- is there is always a wrong way to be something; there is always a wrong way to live; in this world- I spend no more time convincing you to love me; I take the time you have granted me and put the hours back into myself; I take the hours and build a home out of what I love; without you in my life- I have so much time; and so many glorious things to fill it with.
I tell her I am sorry- she has to leave now because I do not want her around; she refuses to leave, tells me it is not true; she says the truth is I have always wanted to be with her; she is not wrong; I always wondered what she would feel like, but I was never allowed to get to know her; my body carved hollow to only feel what they want me to feel; I think they may have forgotten about the grave- somewhere deep inside of me- holding all of the secrets- their secrets; she follows me every where some days- no matter what I do I can just not get rid of her; I hear whispers of her presence in every hallway I walk through; my chest tightens; heart beats faster; I beg her to just leave me alone- yet she still will not leave; she tells me she will not leave- because clearly I do not want her to; one day- I ask her what she wants- I ask her to explain to me why I cannot get her to leave me alone; I ask her- why is she here now; why did she not bother to show up when I was being raped- because if she showed up then- maybe together we would have been able to stop it; we sit in silence for a while; I tell her if she is going to stay she needs to give me time to get used to her; that is the thing about emotions- anger specifically; when you are not used to feeling them- when you are told you are wrong for feeling them- you will do everything in your power to send them away; which will just make them come back stronger; I look anger in the eye- tell her it is okay if she wants to stay around for a while; maybe letting her live in me will not be such a bad thing; maybe feeling different emotions- no matter how uncomfortable- can be a good thing; maybe with anger on my side- I will finally learn how to not just back down; I will finally learn it is okay to fight if you need to.
It was the first real day of summer; there was not a cloud in the sky and everything seemed to be going just right; when you asked me how I could still be sad on days like this- I knew my depression would always be a burden to you- my anxiety an unwanted guest; I do not know how to explain to you that so many days are dark days for me; they consume me whole as they tell me I am not important; which is to say- I do not always know why I am here; one day you ask me why I cannot just go back to the way I used to be; the problem is- I do not quite know who that is anymore; on my darkest days- the rain forests move into my heart; all the thunder cracks in my chest- as forest fires erupt in my stomach; all of the water in the world takes over my own body- drowning me in my own thoughts; on these days- my own bones turn against me- the unwanted voices do not stop; on my dark days- I am not asking you to fix me; I do not need you to tell me not to worry or to not be sad; I do not need you to play god- because that is too much to ask of the both of us; we both know this depression and anxiety are here to stay- even if you cannot accept that; when the dark days come- and I promise you they are going to come- all I need is for you to sit with me- to please just accept my sadness for what it is; to offer me a life raft- but please, do not be mad when I do not always want to take it; to ask me where does the quiet live; and how long will it take to get us there.
Every morning the bright yellow ball caresses the earth- demanding everyone to be aware of its existence; always rising in the east and setting in the west- its presence will forever be counted on; but- with light- always follows darkness; when the light begins to fade- the darkness will shortly follow; this darkness creeps in ever so slightly; until- all in an instant there is nothing but blackness surrounding you; but- when the light fades to dark- there is one thing you can always count on; the magnificent ball of light will always rise again; and the beauty it beholds will take everyone’s breath away all over again.
She felt like a flower wilted and alone- the way he undressed her with a single look; she felt like a flower- one that had been picked and left to die- he knew all of her insecurities and made sure to make them visible to every eye; she felt like a flower- but not the kind that everyone loves- he made her unlovable- yet she lusted after him even so; she felt like a flower- but not like a rose whose beauty is always alluring- he has taken all of her beauty as he touches her without care; she felt like a flower- whose petals have been ripped off one by one- he has taken every piece of her; including her soul; she felt like a flower- yet not so much anymore- he has taken the garden inside of her; leaving her vacant- with nothing but shattered petals- surrounding her whole.
Books have been the safest home I have ever known; when I read I can be anything I want- the outside world no longer matters; I open a book and it casts away all of the darkness the universe holds in its fists; as I read I find myself in the details- through books I find the strength in being quiet- I find the strength in being who I am- you see, the books never judge me for who I was or what I am or who I will be; they open their pages for all of me; I cast forth my hopes into these books and let the pages hold them as a prayer; reading has become my religion because these books are the only thing that can keep me safe from my own mind; when my body is no longer the safe place I want it to be- I drop to my knees and worship my bookshelf as I search for the story of a girl like me; my body dissolves into the words each night begging to be a part of something- pleading for someone or something to understand me; I read a book about a girl who is lost; two about a girl who has been raped; I absorb the words as best I can- I store them in my bones throughout my body; each night as I open a book the pages tell me- welcome home, we have been waiting for you- and together we will save you all over again.
When an older customer informed me
that he liked skinny girls and
he wanted me to come to his house,
if no one else heard,
could I pretend it never happened?
But when the woman behind him laughed
as I stood there hearing nothing
but his comments,
and my heartbeat clawing its way up my chest
I could no longer pretend it did not happen
it became as real as the sun shining outside
and the blaze was terrifying
as it took my breath away and made me feel faint-
in that moment I loathed him.
I hated myself for having a body
and I hated myself merely
for hating myself.
this feeling was all too familiar
it was the same feeling I had when
the man told me my jeans were too tight
or when the delivery guy hugged me
or when countless other men
provided me with unwanted comments and touch.
In these moments I wanted my
flesh to become one with the walls
and I thought maybe if I stared hard enough
at the ground I could become it.
I did not realize that having
a body was an invitation
for others to say or do whatever they pleased.
When the moon begins
to ignite the sky at dusk
I like to believe
she is calling my name,
sometimes it’s just nice to know
there is something out there
that can break up the darkness;
in some lights we all look the same-
he no longer resembles a monster-
I no longer his victim,
there are days where it feels like every one knows
exactly what happened,
like a chandelier where crystals shine in the light,
my secrets shine in the sun
my brokenness on display for all,
he told me no one would believe me
now there are days-
I don’t always believe it myself;
no one teaches you how to grieve
the loss of your own body,
but as a girl you are taught many
different ways to prepare for it-
which only makes the weight of
the blame heavier,
I should have fought more,
I should have said no,
I should have done something,
because then and only then
this really would not be
From the beginning
they told me I was too quiet
which is why when I was assaulted
I blamed myself,
I thought I must have somehow
consented to what he did to me
I thought my silence must have meant yes;
trying to heal feels way too much
like being punished for what he did,
I have thought about leaving forever,
but I never want to give him the satisfaction
he has taken so much from me already,
when the night gets lonely
and the world seems no bigger
than the space in my mind
I write over and over and over again
that I will be okay;
when the world feels like it is
shattering around me-
I promise myself I will not shatter with it;
on the days when all I can think about
are the details of what he did
I remind myself I am not the broken one;
and when this body feels like it no longer belongs to me-
I remember that this body never belonged to him.
Last week I started to write my suicide note
so far all it says is:
I can’t bear to tell you about the pain
that has consumed me,
how my body is no longer mine
how it hasn’t been for a while now.
I picked out the date for my death,
it’s not for a few more months
my heart feels like a weight
I have never been trained to carry
I’m sorry that I never told you
who I really am
my body has become a casket;
I bury my secrets inside of me
hoping that the ghost
is not too noticeable.
The other day you asked me
why my smile looks so different,
why my eyes look so tired all the time,
I didn’t know how to answer.
Loneliness has become my closest friend-
isolation my only defense mechanism,
I stopped going to counseling
after I brought up the assault
and sexual abuse
because suddenly I was too exposed,
the pain became too raw-
everything too real.
I thought my counselor would hate me
just as much as I hate myself.
Guilt and shame crush my soul everyday,
they grind my bones to dust
my skin is a canvas for pain;
I draw the hurt I feel inside
onto my body hoping you understand
how deep this sadness runs;
sadness is an indescribable pain-
all five oceans live in my chest,
they drown me in their waves
as they throw me into their shore;
I cry for help-
but no sound ever comes out.