A sick feeling in my stomach but a smile on my face
A memory I ignore but can’t erase
A heavy weight on my heart but too much fear
I’m holding back something I’m dying to say.
I’m losing my mind thinking what it will take
For someone to hear.
A fearful confession...it only took five years,
But of course, they believe him when he fakes some tears.
He tells them “she wanted it” and “it was consensual.”
They believe him, and my life suddenly sheers.
I nod to make them happy, but let me be clear:
It was not mutual.
Seven years old to twelve, my nightly fears were perpetual.
Who cares whose story is truthful and factual
When he sheds a tear and puts on a good show?
It seems I’m the one in the wrong, as usual.
What a fool to think my story would be equal.
It’s still a low blow.
Five years later, I still have stains on my pillow
From makeup and tears ‘cause I couldn’t say no.
Well, I did say no, but he wouldn’t listen.
Will it still hurt in five more? Who knows.
But it’s still a piece of myself I let go,
A piece I’m missin’.
It feels like something wrong with me needs fixin’.
But as long as they’re happy, I’ll keep pretendin’
That I’m okay, that I was lying. I apologize.
I hear stories about all of these women
Who are taken and sold and ***** and beaten,
And they survive.
Compared to that, this is nothing, so I’ll deny
The truth, or at least let them believe the lies.
I’ll make them happy; that’s what smiling masks are for.
If anyone asks, I’ll simply minimize
How bad it was. Who needs to know how many times
I was on the floor,
Curled up, crying, because I felt like a *****?
It will just be one more thing for me to ignore.
What more could you expect from such a fool, a clown?
I don’t want to be a disappointment anymore.
I want to go back to the little girl I was before,
The one on the playground
Who felt like a princess and wore a silver crown.
But every word I try to speak gets drowned
By my own mind and the thoughts I won’t share.
I’m fine, but the pain is always in the background.
Still, I get hit up to get felt up then shot down.
How is that fair?
If a guy likes my body and what I wear
But not me, am I supposed to not care?
Whatever happened to my shining knight?
Am I supposed to feel honored if guys stare?
I want to scream, but I just can’t find the air.
Guess that’s why I write.
Sometimes the pain and shame get too much despite
Being told countless times it will be alright.
But you will never understand what it feels like when
the monster from nightmares comes to haunt you night after night,
Except you’re not asleep and this nightmare is real life
Not ‘til you listen.