This doesn’t feel right,
I want to go home,
Should I call?
I can’t go home this way,
I’ll wait.
I text a friend,
He’s calling a cab for me,
That’s fine,
I’ll be safe soon,
I can wait.
Maybe I should lie down,
The keeper said I could lie down,
Should I just sit out in the cold instead?
There’s nowhere to go,
I’ll just lie down.
Crack opens the door,
I watch his shadow,
He’s taking his shirt off,
And the air is thick with sweat,
He lies down next to me.
There’s no escape,
There’s no running,
Should I scream?
Will anybody hear?
Is anybody awake?
I close my eyes,
His hands are moving,
I clench my fists,
Salt in my mouth,
Blood in my jeans.
Why can’t I scream?
Did I lose my voice?
Or maybe it didn’t happen to me,
Something hurts,
But he’s gone now.
I adjust my clothes,
Fix my hair,
Stand on my two feet,
And walk out the door,
“You won’t tell anyone, right? You’re like my daughter.”
The cab pulls up,
The driver got lost,
But now I’m on my way,
Something hurts,
I’m on my way.
Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed like,
I was alone and he was a man,
And why was I out drinking anyway?
Nobody needs to know,
It didn’t happen.
I was a mere spectator,
Or was I a participant?
This is an account of ****** violence, and explores themes of dissociation and guilt often experienced by survivors. Part of the experience is described as if it were happening in the present, highlighting a key aspect of how the past often intermingles with the present among those survivors who continue to re-live the trauma.