STORY 17
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*my heart to sing, just for now* In my mind's attic, in a box marked "Keep Out" Are memories of a tough past, and I really doubt You want to read on about my depressing past But apparently you are more daring than the last Who didn't read this far. Only a child of merely three, my uncle, he molested me. It happened once after I'd scraped my knee; He yelled and said I had to take a bath Little did I know what pain lay in my path As he touched me. He told me all sorts of terrible lies I didn't see through his evil disguise He said I was dirty and must come clean (What he did next told me he hadn't been weaned.) I was scared. And yet he kept touching my legs, the insides The worst part of all was how I saw his pride As he hurt an innocent, trusting little child His eternal punishment should be anything but mild In hell. He put his finger inside me after pushing me to the ground I was so scared I couldn't make any sound. I sat there in fear as pain entered my head Even at that age, I then wished I were dead Like he cared. I remember another time when he hurt me He took me to a private room, before I could flee. I wore a dress that day, he took off my panties And started touching, beginning at my knees Going north. Then he took off his pants and made me touch him Forced to handle his penis, he called it his stem And what happened next, I bit my own lip Then he thrust my open mouth down to his hips And I cried. Another day, I was getting ready to shower He came in again, once more to overpower Me and as he pinned me down to the floor I realized I just couldn't take any more Then he raped me. When he left, I lay crying alone In a pool of blood, if only he were done Making me miserable, touching me and all Fortunately those footsteps descending down the hall I just cried. Then I got up to wash away his sins And as a child, I didn't know where to begin. The force of my tears was constantly pouring As I stood, almost helpless there showering I was scared. Yet once more my body did he seek He grabbed me from behind, I thought I would freak As he flung me down to the ground in the barn Why hadn't anyone the time even to warn Me of this? And once more he raped me, again I was scared And again it just seemed like nobody cared. He told me this time that I'd never be loved And said he would hurt me if even I moved. And I cried. Finally he dressed, and left me there The pain was getting to be too much to bear I got up right away and put on my clothes My security is one thing my uncle loathes So it seems. So many times he lied 'bout my life Said no one would ever want me as a wife Said I was no good, would never do well And no one would believe me if I would tell But I did. Sometimes my story would be doubted But for those times I only pouted And told someone else in hopes they'd believe Or maybe share words, my pain to relieve I hoped. Sometimes the best thing a friend can do Is just to believe my story is true And be there for me, let me be sad Instead of offer to hurt his gonads (Oh, what fun.) So I thank you for reading my depressed song I knew you'd be my friend, I knew all along Now I feel better, my heart to sing And never again will I feel sorrow's sting Just for now. All alone in the darkness my inner child cries For those who have been hurt as she was, and are afraid She cries for them to know that they are not alone She cries for them to know that there is a safe place She cries out to them to hold her hand, and she will lead there. All alone in the darkness my inner child laughs For those who need encouragement and the will to smile She laughs because the darkness can no longer control her She laughs knowing that she CAN be strong despite the lies She laughs at the abusers when their prey stops the hurting All alone in the darkness my inner child hopes That those who need the courage to go on have found it She hopes that they will realize they haven't done any wrong She hopes that they will find support from loving friends She hopes that they will not be afraid of the darkness any more. 6-10-01 I write. Perhaps it is because I was taught at an early age to do so. Perhaps it is because somewhere I hope my words might bring a smile, Or perhaps I write Because I feel the need for those around me to understand me, Or those who understand me to acknowledge me. I care. Perhaps it is because everyone should feel that someone cares, Or perhaps I care Because I feel the need to be caring to others, Or those I care about to care for me, too. I cry. Perhaps it is because I feel free of past burdens, Perhaps it is because of the triumphs of friends, Or perhaps I cry Because I feel the need to keep in touch, Or those I love feel lost. 6-10-01
