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 Dec 2019
Farheen Khan
My  scars were never seen
Everything this world has ever given me
Was pain
The moment when I was used
For someone's so  called pleasure
I was dead inside
They took my  soul
And left me empty
But it's wasn't end to my pain
It was the beginning
Everyday i was  called with names
That I never thought was me
When i tried to speak up
And the only  time I thought
Someone atleast someone will listen to me
I got more scattered as Thier isn't any soul who understands me
Every trial I had to explain and justify myself
As if I'm the criminal and asking for justice was my biggest crime
I had to tell why I was wearing what I was wearing
I had tell why was I alive and not dead
I had tell how it felt as if my pain wasn't seen
****** me  everytime with thier questions
And all those eyes burning on my face
Asking me
Why was I in the position I never wanted to be

But  with the power of sunshine
I fought
Because giving up was never an option
Fighting back was
And I did it
I did everything to see them where they are now
I did it for myself and for all the girls of my nation
So i found this on my drafts I wrote these few months back when I was reading a article about **** victims. And I felt Thier pain it was so heart breaking for me when I saw the reality like how badly they are treated specially living in a country like India where we worship women Goddesses and also in other countries too situation is no different and I hope this get a full stop and also to girls who have been through this I'm so sorry I just wish I could hug you guys and I also hope you get justice and i want tell that Iam proud of you for all those struggles don't worry healing is always good it takes time but will reach you soon♥️
 Dec 2019
Seema
The chirping of birds
Alarms the time to wake
Another day of living
A sound of daybreak

The smooth silky ripples
Pave, the so calmed lake
They smile to the sky
Raising high to take

I stretch my hands high
So to touch the puffy cloud
The rumbles warm me
With beat grumps so loud

The walk through the trees
Pitches the light to cast my shadow
Like a laser blade
It attracts me towards the meadow

There I sit, looking down
Where the lake dances with its flow
Taking a deep breath
And then exhaling it slow

To the life that sheds my tears
Breaks my heart and shatters apart
Caged like in a glass orb
Shelved in a busy mart

This feeling crawls in slowly
And mocks through my fear
The fighting gist sits back
With no one to hear

I feel alone and slumber in the dark
Voices fiddle to my in
All are doing it
C'mon, it's not a sin

But I run to hide to reach
The path which I've walked before
Through the smiling trees
Next to the lakes shore

Where nature welcomes me
With ripples and a puffy crown
Radiance full of golden sparkles
In which, my dark feelings drown...

©sim
Weaving thoughts.
 Dec 2019
N
I am on a diet
from sharp knives

I have been fasting
for about two months

Here is my clean
untouched wrists

But what if I got thirsty
for a drop of my blood?

What if I got hungry, and swallowed
all the knives in the kitchen drawer?
I haven’t cut in about two months or maybe a month and a half I can’t remember, but it’s been so long since my hands laid on a knife. I am craving that rush of blood. I am scared of getting hungry.
 Dec 2019
N
Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me
I rewrote this poem because it felt unfinished.
 Sep 2019
eleanor prince
(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man







  


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of ****** services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some boundaries simply should never be breached, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
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