I am a survivor of ****** abuse.
I grew up between dysfunctional families
where we did not say what was not okay
until I could not remember the first time I had been abused.
But I remember the last.
Now I am the severely depressed survivor
who cannot ride passenger without remembering
his driving me 80 and angrily down a gravel road
who cannot sit in hot water without remembering
his joining my bath
who cannot tell my stories
even when people ask.
Tonight I try…
try to feel happiness as I run in the rain
try to tell the sadness of losing my mother
try to tell you I am not okay.
Tonight I will write stories
about grandma rising from her wheelchair
to be raised up on eagle’s wings
about grandpa who never told me he loved me
before he died
about my brother who goes to Yale
but cannot control his temper.
I will write stories, my stories
And I will let you read
If you will help me write.
I begin with this poem