Nothing Poetic

Warning: May contain triggers for survivors of childhood sexual abuse

I was raped when I was 8
Over and over
When I should have been safe
There is nothing poetic here

They always call us crazy
They always deny, say we lie
As recent as last year
I was called a stupid “victim”
By a Buddhist thinker
Who called the memory of my rape
And the flashbacks, my illusions
Symptoms that he called my fault
Nothing new, this sanity assault
I know you’d be more comfortable
If I locked it in my body vault
But I will not
My honesty does not mean
I still feel like a victim
It simply relays the truth of
What he did to me when I was,
And he did, and I was 8
And now I fight, and I heal, and it’s real
And I say clearly this is me
Because brutes and blind society
Cannot scare or quiet me
Ever again

This post was originally published on February 4, 2014

2 Replies to “Nothing Poetic”

  1. Beautiful poem! I also write poetry, even published a poem about us ‘wounded souls’, but as you said “cannot scare or quiet me again” and I said, “fending for self in a hostile environment, with obstacles to overcome, while struggling to survive amongst the brutal forces of not just nature, but that of society, that of fellow flock turned foe, save for a few friendlies wanting to rescue the unfortunate cast off, to ease it’s suffering, to stop the cruelties encountered and endured by the wounded soul…. You go#!!!!

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