I move around a lot when I sleep,
I move and I move in hopes
that he won’t lay his hands on me again.
He’s not in the same room as me,
Yet I move around just to make sure.
The blanket I use nightly swaddles me tightly
and acts as my protector,
When I was too afraid to protect myself.
The dark acts as a monster that opens his soul thirsty mouth
and swallows my pride, swallows my emotions and my dignity.
I turn off the lights before bed and I tell myself
“If you don’t provoke him, he won’t hurt you.”
I tell myself that there’s nothing to be afraid of.
I tell myself that there’s no reason for me to be scared.
But he still shows up in my dreams,
He shows up when I close my eyes,
He shows up when I’m taking a shower,
He shows up while I’m driving down the street,
Anywhere I go, I’m afraid and I’m trapped.
It took me 3 full years to even understand what happened.
I feel his hands when I feel anyone’s hands on my body.
It’s not easy to distinctly tell the difference between two hands,
but when that was the only thing you felt all night
and you couldn’t escape the harsh touch of a man you called your uncle,
you know exactly what that feels like.
That touch is permanently implanted in your brain,
You feel it in you, you feel it scratch at your eyes
That cry at night even when you don’t want to.
He felt my body, but what he couldn’t feel is the power in me
To fight back, the power in me to tell someone and
To discuss with ease every little detail from that night,
What he couldn’t feel is my confidence,
My soul, my love for my body. He could touch me physically,
But he could never touch the valiance in my heart.