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Danash DelGotto Nov 2013
My daughter is five years old, she is constantly asking the question "why?" I pray to God above me that she never has to use that word in the context that rolled through my mind when I was a young girl who developed early, who didn't understand when men looked me up and down and whistled and yelled catcalls, those men that didn't see my childs face on an adult body. Those people who judged me, because I had a child as a young teenager. Those people who judged without knowing the pain and anguish, and how if not for that little girl in the stroller I would not be alive to speak now. That she was my silver lining on the darkest cloud of my life.
People don't realize that the smallest things they say can tear like razor wire sinking deep into the heart of the young child that was hurt by those monsters lurking in the darkness. That child that was so beautiful that those sick creatures wanted to see the sting and light of fear pour out of her eyes and mouth like the wails of a crying baby. That young girl forever seeing monsters in everyone, every man that looks her in the eye, or touches her or smiles in her direction she fears him, she fears that demon that still grasps her throat when the thoughts and the nightmares come. Those nightmares of the helpless silence that she was reduced to, to the anguish of being alone. She never faces those demons... She looks away in fear and pain and lowers her eyes and let the drooling monsters stare, because she is terrified to open her eyes, to see that demon again. She cuts her skin to make that body that was so lovely that it could not be resisted even when the no that she screamed could not be heard through the smothering hand that covered her face. That little girl hides in the dark..feeling broken...
Until that one man comes into her life. Who could care less about her "assets" and cares for that heart that has so many scars that you can't tell the difference between the stitches. That man, that aches to tell her that she is beautiful, that she is not broken. That all he wants to do is help her through the nightmare that has become her life and memories, To hold her when those nightmares overwhelm her reality. So that she can look into the eyes of that beautiful baby girl and tell her that she too is beautiful. He wants to hold them both from the pain and the anguish... to hear the mothers voice and help her cope with the pain so that the little girl, that came too early in her life would not feel the sting of resentment and the pain that she went through.
How do you tell that baby girl that monsters are real, but not under her bed, they hide in the faces of people, some that she should be able to trust. A Cousin, A Neighbor or family friend, those people that she should be able to trust. That if they say don't tell you better know that is what you are supposed to do, to fight, and scream... And the fear that if you tell her all that, that she will live her life in the same fear that you live.. but if you don't tell her that she will feel the sting of being broken and being torn and having those nightmares become reality...
How do you tell that little child that she is so beautiful... that people want to hurt her.... I wish someone had told me... That I had a voice that could speak out and let it be known.
I found my voice when I was 14 and carrying that beautiful silver lining that is my daughter.
I let it be known, and because of the sacrifice of being publicly humiliated in front of judge and jury, repeating over and over the atrocities that he shoved upon me and my already broken mind... the pain that he inflicted...
Because of my testimony.. That monster could never touch that beautiful daughter of his ever again. Her brothers would never take that beating from daddy while he is drunk or high. He will rot in that prison and he will feel the sting of justice as the pain he inflicted is returned ten fold, and he will feel the pieces of him being ripped out and ripped apart just as he did to those little girls.
The little girl that lifted her chin and spoke out with the help of God and for her unborn daughter that she carried in her young body... They didn't see the youth of her face the monsters only saw her body... I look back at the little girl so torn and broken, and now. I can hug that child that I used to be, and stand hand in hand with my children and face the future, and stand among the children that God has given me, and tell them that they are beautiful...They are so beautiful... And keep a watchful eye in those shadows, trying not to show them the fear that overcomes my heart every time someone speaks to them.
Reminding that precious child that stranger danger is an important lesson, and seeing her friendly face and her want to love the world the same way that I had when I was young before that was used and torn apart... Seeing her run up and hug that teacher that she barely knows, just for the sake of a hug, and feeling that fear crawl up my throat like darkness seeping through the night... seeing myself as a child hugging those people the wrong people... and praying to God that the people in her life are real people and not the monsters of my nightmares that haunt my thoughts day and night...Hoping and praying that she never has to know that fear of silence that fear and self hatred.. never have to ask the question of "Why?" Never having to feel like she is alone and that she can't speak the forbidden words in fear that they will say that she is lying, that she has done wrong, because she feels *****, and fears that the world will see her as *****, ugly, broken.. That she never has to feel that seeping numbness, that want to feel again instead of being the hollow shell of darkness that the monsters have created out of such a loving beautiful child...
I pray...That she never has to ask " God, Why?"
Danash DelGotto Aug 2013
Gripping the past so eagerly
Strangling the joy from my day.
Bleak understanding and realization
That the only one who can make me move,
Is me.

You can't move me any longer
You can't hold me down either,
for nothing you can say or do,
can I be held accountable
Because I have grown
Stronger.

Your words do linger in my mind
And the sting of your touch.
But now with the longing dying
I can say I don't miss it that much

This hallway is so dark sometimes,
Why am I not moving..
Just staring at the closed, and locked door
To my past. I need to open another door
And close the box of my crimes.
Danash DelGotto Jul 2013
Thank you for your hospitality
Thank you for what we used to be
Thank you for what you meant to me
Thank you for setting me free
Thank you for showing me finally
What I can become...
Reminding me of where I'm from

For washing away the rain
from my eyes
When all I could do
was lay down and cry

For showing me that I am all I need
That I can get up while my heart bleeds
For all the advice that I should heed

Thank you for the time we had
Thank you for the good and the bad
Thank you for teaching me to
Look up Look up
When all I see is the empty cup

For holding my hand
Making me understand
that I am worth it...

I was worth it...
..
am I worth it?


For all the moments that we shared
for being someone who cared
for holding me when I was scared
for giving love, unimpaired

I wish that I was more

I wish I could belong

I wish we weren't wrong...

Wishing never got me anywhere
I still can feel my heart tear
Why does this life have to be so unfair
Why look at me with teeth bared
remember what we shared?
remember when you cared?
can't you see I'm scared?


I will always hold you, in my heart
Though I may never hold you, in my arms
I pray you never fall to any harm


Go, Live your life
and I'll live mine
and remember life, from another time
and be missing you...
missing you..
Danash DelGotto Jul 2013
I hate the dreams I have of us
Of that far day, when we had trust.
The day where you held my hand
Where you pledged you'd understand.
You said you'd never leave...
then why now do I grieve....?
I will not be tossed around
then thrown upon the ground...
I will rise up and move on
you won't know until I'm gone...
Danash DelGotto Apr 2013
Walking along.
Picking up the pieces
of a shattered glass.
Cleaning up someone elses mess
Fixing something, that was not yours to fix.
Is it your burden to carry,
To cut yourself on the glass
To bleed for a problem that you did not create?
Will this generate resentment, hate?

I am not a problem,
I am not a burden,
I am no longer shattered,
Though I do have some rough edges.
I would never try to cut you,
Just be careful, Because I have been broken.
and it is easier to shatter, again, after once you have.
And my edges are sharp, when shattered
But, I guess, that never mattered,
You walked right through
a broken life
and did what you do
and took my strife
and replaced it with Truth.
Danash DelGotto Apr 2013
Oh what messes we create,
when we are a mess ourselves.
Contented to sit and wait
with our lives upon the shelves.
With shut eyes we wander far
stumbling through the dark.
Wishing on a distant star,
Ignoring what is in our heart.
So why sit idle while time goes by
And look back with wonder, on what was missed
Why not take the joy, and fly
Instead of blinded, with clenched fists?
Danash DelGotto Mar 2013
One sure thing in this life is true,
Everything changes, and so do you.
The course of time will take it toll,
make you weak, or make you whole.
You choose and decide that fate,
with what you sit, and contimplate,
I myself don't have all the answers,
I just learn from my fellow advancers.
I look at everything as a learning opportunity,
good or bad it joins in unity,
Into all the knowledge I've gathered and who I've become,
based off what rules me and what I've overcome.
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