#csa poems on Hello Poetry

V Oct 2017

Since birth, I have been called "The Monarch."
Since birth I have been given wings,
Since birth I have been told being a caterpillar,
"Is unworthy of many things."

Now I am The Monarch,
Now I have many things,
But how I miss being the caterpillar,
And having my own wings.

Relating to Trauma.

In which case, my abusers molded me with the idea of perfection.
Seeking it has destoryed me beyond compare.

But that was my fault.

#perfection #abuse #trauma #csa #lies #reality #pain #illness #bpd

V Oct 2017

Woe and Behold

Behold the man who terrfies with power,
Behold the man who can **** a king with his glower.
All hail the man who has it all,
All hail the man who cannot fall.

Woe to the man who fears judgement day,
He paces and turns the clock off in fear driven rage.
Woe to the man who hides his pills from the other "eyes",
He sits vengeful at his past, masking it with every lie.
Woe to the man who doesn't sleep at night,
For he regrets selling is soul, he doesn't sleep in fright.
Woe to the men who are evil, for deep down they do not know,
Their sickness has overcome them, they aren't aware they are suffering, barely able to crawl.

Behold the one who sees it all,
It is I, the lowly, the injured, the small.
Behold the one with the love for the wolves when the world does not,
I love what the world only wishes to die and rot.
The evil are not born evil, some this truth is no option,
For many, "Go to hell, you deserve no love, you are just a toxcin."
I have grown to love what you consider "wicked",
Despite my life, I am the victim.
I can only love and forgive, no hatred after all these years,
I still pray for them, behind my bruises, scars and tears.

We could both debate, argue and try to pursuade, but I care too much, I will not lie behind hate.
Perhaps a weakness, call me pathetic,
but I was sent to heal the broken,
Even if it makes me just as sick.

Without a cure, how can we heal?
Without a heaven, there is only hell.

I fear the day when I am free,
I fear the day this chord is broken,
Killing them from me.
What will be left is me the murderer,
Me to mourn their decay;
And what will be left is just a dream, a blurr.
A pain I cannot bare to think it,
I cannot stomach that, not even for a bit.

So, woe and behold,
The evil, the sick,
Whom society and the mind is their virus,
A good soul their antibiotic.

Survivor of SRA/CSA and multiple traumas.
To my abusers, whom I could never find it in my heart to harbour hatred and vengence, for doing so would keep me not only prisoner, but blind.
Despite all the pain they have given me and the freedom, innocence, and stabilty I may never have again, I have learned to love and understand their pain deep inside.
What has made them, them today...
What has destroyed them.
I hated seeing that pain.
I have done everything I could to be what I believed "a cure" for their troubled hearts.
Who knows if what I did found them.

It kills me still that I don't feel "sane" without them, as if I killed them by escaping because at one time they said "we were one".
Yes, I still deal with heavy Stockholm Syndrome, but for me, loving and forgiving is what I will never not do.

As said, no one is born evil,
No one is born with a black heart.
I wished society can understand this,
but there is nothing more I can do.

To all surviors of all trauma large or small, May peace, happiness and freedom forever be with you. <3

#abuse #csa #trauma #survivor #stockholmsyndrome #fear #paim #forgivness #love #cope

V Aug 2017

CSA

A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.

To help raise awarness toward something I personally went through enough to cause me to develop and struggle in such horrible and confusing ways.
CSA (Childhood ****** Abuse) is one of many worldwide issues that I am sick of hearing and seeing happen and hope more people can do more to help and hopefully change the world for those who struggle with fear, pain, depression, PTSD, anger and having been silenced and powerless when they should have had their wings and voices to fly.

This is for those who understand this and have survived what no child ever should have to remember.
YOU ARE NOT YOUR PAST OR THE PEOPLE WHO HURT YOU.
<3

#csa #abuse #trauma #childhood #awarness #mentalillness #ptsd

honey May 2017

hands

your hands are on me
you made me bad
disgusting, rotten and
wrong
you spoiled my innocence
my ability to trust
you erased my childhood with your
hands
all i can see is your hands
everywhere they shouldn’t be
they’re suffocating me and you’re
evil
you’re **** near evil
you’re just a memory
i hope you burn, bleed, drown
choke

this was the first thing i wrote about my childhood, which i only start to remember after my 8th birthday. i don't remember his face or who he was, only his hands.

#trauma #childhood #csa #ruined #hands #abuse #painful #traumatized #traumatic

CE Feb 2017

sleepover all summer

There was ***** and stolen cigarettes
There were long nights in her bed
There was a 10 year old learning about things he shouldn't know
There was secrecy, "our little secret"

She made me feel special
She was older and mature
This stuff was mature;
Even if it hurt
Even if I bled
Even if made me sick

I learned that a child's body is a play thing,
Locked inside a damp, broken toy box until it was to be used again
I learned that a child's mind was of little value without its sweet and soft body

No child ever came out of that house, that locked toybox

A child died in that house,
Mind damaged beyond repair
But thank goodness it's body is still in tact
An empty body,
An empty husk of a child,
It's much easier to use

Without that body this child is worthless

I apologise if this poem comes of as glorification/fetishisation, it's not intended to.
Trigger warning for themes of CSA/*******.

#broken #young #child #trauma #csa

CE Dec 2016

thin skin

His body was the scene of the crime that he was never permitted to leave

The home battlefield of a surrendered side shown no mercy by the aggressor

If he looks down for too long then the memory of ***** hands pressing on his throat and spreading his legs open return

There was nowhere he was safe

Impurity had burrowed under his skin

his insides had paid the price

#trauma #csa

wood Nov 2015

don't run, child

as soon as i turn onto the street,
my pulse picks up pace to make up
for the slack on the gas pedal
as my foot sides with a little part of my heart
in the war between it and my brain
and the part of me arming myself
with a litany of you are untouchable nows.

the house on the corner sits there
as it always has, square and solid and red -
red as southern dirt coating holy little arms and legs,
red as skinned knees and scraped palms,
red as the pickup truck outside,
red as a hunted girl in the woods, red as -

the other house is off-white.
it’s long and flat and once upon a time
a boy kissed me right there in the front yard
on my seven-year-old strawberry cheek.
the boy moved out and took even the cabinet doors
and soon after the nightmare moved in.
i always steal a glance in case it’s outside.
today it is, casually sunning itself on the porch.
i feel its eyes on me as i pull in across the road.

the little drummer boy housed in my chest is going to war.
i never know if we win.
i fumble with the keys, torn between hurryuphurryupit’sthereit’sthere -
and i know, i know. it can smell fear.
i let the car door hang open before i’m ready to get out.
i’m open, it silently challenges. come and get me if you dare.
i check the mirror to make sure it doesn’t.

i slide out, fight the urge to pull myself in and instead grow larger.
i do not look over again.
every step to the red door i take thuds in my ears,
my own war drums. this fight i will win. i do not look behind me.
i knock on the door. i go in, feeling eyes burning me.
i’ve won.

until i walk back out -
then i do it all again.

#csa

rook Aug 2015

cabin in the woods

don’t you keep your secrets well? like i did
five years and counting and i was kneeling on your floor
chapped lips and oily thoughts of the summer breathing in your hunting eyes
i’ll tell them if you don’t
and i was far too young to realize that the only thing wrong was you
i grabbed at any chance to be acknowledged,
accustomed to my solitary confinement with the friends i had to make
on my own
that could never talk back to me
so i was fond of your attention
i owed it to you for talking to me, didn’t i
things i could barely comprehend
the meaning of
look at me
not enough
too slow
i think i hear them
hide under the covers
it’s okay
i’ll tell them if you don’t
dont you want to have a baby? we could right now thats a lie
encouragement
lying
pleading
on your behalf
it wasnt just me, but she didnt live there
and the only person i ever told was a
repeat offender.

h a,h

#abuse #****** #csa

scully Jul 2015

child

I've tried to record
The way your name falls out of my mouth
When I drop glass onto the floor
Like my mothers list of forbidden words
In spreadsheets
Counting with fingers and letters
Every time I pass a red pushpin in a map
Of where you told me
"You're so young and immature"
Like a compliment traced with
Sobriety and melatonin
I've picked up pencils
That end up in pieces
After scrawling your dialogues
Onto "it's your own fault" paper
I've scrubbed myself raw
With people who wont
Look me in the eyes anymore
With your goodbye words
With the flashbacks of
Your hands manifesting
The uncharted areas
Of my brittle hips
How my ****** syllables were
Dinner party jokes
There's nothing that can hurt
A god of power
And business suits
Someone who's never told no
Holds a child
In a way that erases the thought of comfort
And now
I lack the maturity to refuse requests
And you tell me
I'd make a good corpse
At a funeral catered towards
Twenty-nine year old men
Who never learned the difference
Between property and personality
And my promises
Tighten around my throat
Gratefully
Like your hands
Fostering the
Aurora Borealis of love
In a way that
Makes me choke on
The things you've shown me
The things you've ruined for me
The words I will never get back
And I sit
With you surrounding me
In and out of every crevice of my body
You've claimed for yourself
Helpless
And defeated
Like a child
Just how you like me

im very sorry

#love #abuse #csa

xeron Mar 2015

children

this is the end of all things,
where i’m picking my teeth for traces of you
and the light goes out in the middle of the night.

here is an alternate history:
your hands, but with
“the end of the world”
written on them.

because this was the real apocalypse,
your bruises implanted in my skin
the way they spelled “goodbye.”
take care, take care
you won’t be seeing me again.

but we were just swollen children,
you’re thinking,
we were just playing with blood like every child does.
and you’re right.
i was a human canvas and you were
painting my childhood onto me.
you never did anything any other boy wouldn’t do.

so bring me my ending world
in hands split and shaking.
so tell me i’m unlovely one last time.
you know i’ll believe each word you say.

tell me something.
what colour were my lips by the time we were through?
how deep a hole did you choose for me
that i could finally fit into once i was all carved up?
what kind of child was i?
tell me something.
what was so wrong with me
that you had to keep me?

#abuse #children #ptsd #child #violence #trauma #assault #csa

— The End —