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NAL Jan 22
It was so long ago, but as soon as the dreams
or flashbacks enter; it's her reality once again.
Dropping to the floor, she begins to cry silently
at first...until she begins to scream at the walls again.
Huddled against the bath floor, she no longer felt
the comfort or protection of the hot air nor the
warm water that beaded her body behind the curtain.
Crawling into the fetal position in her bed, she covers both
palms against her mouth as she cries and screams silently.
His hands are back under her waistband; caressing her skin
with his rough hands. She begins to shake as she feels his
breathing on her neck as if she was there in bed with him again.
The shower is no longer comforting but reminds her how
vulnerable she is. As she curses and pleas for whys and hows;
another flashback hits her. The pool is where he grabbed her,
touching her mound and even thrusting himself against her;
but she can't do anything; she's still. Thrashing in her bed,
she struggles to contain the sobs that emit as she sits up in her bed.
Next, she's in the classroom where who she thought was her friend
slipped a hand down her shorts in the darkroom, but she pushes him
back and tears slip out of her eyes as she moves away from him.
As she stands in her towel staring at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror,
she almost snarls at herself; "But you let it happen; it's your fault."
As if her reflection was another person, she breaks into fits of cries again,
"I didn't want it and they did an-"
She opens her eyes to wake up to her room; alone.
She didn't feel anything but disgust as she got up, heading
straight to the bathroom for another shower.
As she starts it and begins to strip, she stares at herself in the mirror,
frowning in disgust at her body that people seemed to want to take
advantage of; even when she wasn't of age. She was barely even a woman.
As she climbs into the shower, she sits in the floor with her face
in her hands with the question that she's been asking since she was barely eleven: Why? Why? Why?! Why?! Why! Why Me!
Night terrors and a small form of PTSD plagues her life of male hands that have grabbed her
Nola Leech Jan 12
Mommy, nothing about the way you raised me was normal
It hurts me to think out of everyone you may have hurt me the worst
Because you allowed me to think it was normal
You put me in ****** situations at an extremely young age
Momma, I was four
This was before Dad died
He was on top of you and I was on top of him
If it didn’t happen then why do I remember the PJs i was wearing?
Why do I remember how sweaty he was and how the tv was going?
I remember it was late and my sister was sleeping in her room
Why should I have to explain this to you?
I know you remember
I always thought it was normal how you let me look and touch your body
I was six or seven, I was curious about what I was always exposed to
It made me uncomfortable that you would always talk about how you loved my *******
I told you this
I will most likely never tell
Because I am scared of the men you exposed me to
But I am more scared of you
I thought that you’d never hurt me
But nothing about the way I was raised was normal
In conclusion found out that my bio mother had been molesting me too and making sure that I thought it was normal my whole life so any man that wanted to could hurt me and I wouldn't think twice
Clove Jan 8
I miss you mommy

I think about you a lot
About who you were
And what you were
To me

How kind and self-sacrificing you were
How hardworking
How strong
How beautiful and loving and warm and bright

Oh, how I miss you!

But the more I think about you
The more I realize
Just how fragile
You truly were

How your kindness
And self-sacrificing nature
Was the result of abusive parents
Who constantly molested your body and mind,
Spewing lies of you
Being meaningless and unlovable
As they rubbed their sins and selves upon you

Oh, how you wanted to be loved and needed!

How you used hardwork
To gain the fraudulent love and care
Of rotten people,
Who used you to fill their pockets
And laze around on the back of your efforts.

Oh, how they hurt you!

How your strength
Was throwing up walls
To keep them out,
So they could never penetrate
Deep enough into your heart
To ever hurt you again.

Oh, how you feared they would!

And how your
Beauty,
Love,
Warmth and
Brightness
Was who you truly were
And who you promised yourself to be.

For me
My brother
And my dad

For friends and strangers
My cousins, aunts and uncles
And my horrible grandparents

For all of us
Because it made you feel
Loved and needed

And you were
You were so very
Loved and needed

I hope you knew that you were

I miss you mommy
I love you mommy. I need you mommy. I would've done anything for you. I wish you were still alive, even if you had lasting brain damage and kidney failure from covid, I would've taken care of you.
Why did you have to die? Why did you leave me here? Why didn't you take me with you?
I know you didn't want to leave, but knowing it doesn't make me feel any better.
You tried to touch me,
and I said no.
You still tried and I pushed you away
asking…. no, telling you to leave me alone.
But still, you grabbed me,
like an object that belonged to you.
And when I still said no,
you acted like that was your cue
to grab me again
and do what you do.
You were my best friend
and now I ******* hate you!
I still blame myself for what you did to me.
How is that fair?
It’s been 4 years and I think about it daily.
While you don’t even care.
You ruined high school for me.
I had to see you every day in band.
But I still blame myself,
for not putting you on the stand.
about my ****** assault in 9th grade
I got the school involved, they did nothing despite my concrete evidence
Nola Leech Sep 2020
I used to want him to love me
So I'd pretend that he was my dad
Now I know that his kind of love was wrong
He was very evil, very bad
yúyīn Jun 2020
Do you even know what it’s like for someone to rob you of your trust?
Do you know what it’s like to not understand why this is happening to you?
Do you know what it is like to feel responsible for what’s happened to you?
Do you know what it’s like to be scared to say anything?

Do you know what it’s like to feel nasty and no matter the showers you take you still feel unclean?
Do you know what it’s like to feel uncomfortable around anyone.
Do you know how it feels to lose sleep over something that hurt you?
Do you know what it feels like to never forget?

Do you know what it feels like to be paranoid everywhere you go?
Do you know what it feels like to see them walk around like all is well?
Do you know what it feels like to talk about it but still feel heavy?
Do you know what it feels like to be told it’s your fault?

Do you know what it feels like to want to rewrite that chapter but have no eraser?
Do you know what it feels like to have your innocence taken and not given?

If you don’t know......ALLOW US TO BE ANGRY BECAUSE IT IS OUR TRUTH. OUR BURDEN. OUR LIFE.
Lemonade Jun 2020
My friend puking out her Christmas dinner like a little girl trying to scrub off that uncle’s touch who tells her she is his favorite kid.
For her dad fat shames her every day.


My friend’s parents sending her to therapy because they don’t get how she can like a boy as well as a girl. Or rather don’t try to, because calling it phase is so much easier than explaining to the neighbors how that is who their daughter is. They are oblivious to what it is like to live in a home where you are treated like a victim of your existence.


My friend needs help, a little attention and someone to talk to.
His family is ashamed, how they could have done better for him, how they’re responsible for the things inside his head and I still don’t know what depression does to him, his family doesn’t like to talk about it.
They’d rather consider him possessed because anything is better than people knowing that he needs therapy and love and care. “Their son can’t be suffering from mental illness, they’re a happy family.”


My friend tells me she’s turning into her mother, and her mother let me tell you, she’s fabulous and fierce for she has been through things harsher than a lover who never says,'I love you’ but wants you to be their ***** little secret and you love them a little too much to deny. My friend, she had an anxiety attack last night for she can’t go out with her guy friends, neither talk to a classmate for too long because her boyfriend might start ****-shaming her. I disapprove and tell her she is not turning into her mother but when I sit in their living room, and aunty brings me snacks while talking to me about life within these faint green walls of the house and what did I eat for breakfast. I ask her to go out sometimes because there are so many things out there that she’d be experiencing and creating, friendship, weather, languages, people, art, emotions. And smell some sunlight in the lush greens fields. She says she’s not allowed to, like a kid calling its mother, "Ma". Her husband loves his ***. And her helplessly hazardous heart, too drained to take ‘harlot’ for a word from an alcohol-soaked throat.
The same walls that once adored their wedding photographs now question their love.


My friend’s girlfriend telling him she loves him but they can’t be together because she’s doesn’t want to be seen with him in the streets. But she seeks his warmth in the winter and leaves right before spring. He loses a little bit of himself every time she does that. He blames himself for what love does to him.


The woman who wears a heavy heart to the bed, finds it difficult to put herself to sleep, holds her dog for a little too long. Whose husband refuses to try therapy.
For I can't margin in metaphors, the agony within the wives who haven't been touched for years.
And the woman who feels a little less human after every night her husband forces himself on her. Because she's, his wife. His. Possession not prized but objectified.
The wife whose husband refuses to wear a ******, she gulps down pain every morning with the pills.
Families of these women, who were taught to think that is how the society functions and who are unwilling to unlearn.      


My friend’s brother asking her to stop wearing that short skirt around guests. There's a hole in her heart every time she remembers the traces his hands left on that infertile body of the kid that looked just like her. He pretends like it never happened.
Tell me the things I can change to make this piece of writing better.
pragya santani May 2020
She came from a small suburban town,
Her conservative parents shaped her background.
Her dreams were withered down to a trickle,
She had to be married off as per the societal shackles.

One fine day when her age was “right”,
Her parents shipped her off with man they considered a knight.
It was the beginning of a lifelong nightmare,
Every night a pair of patriarchal cuffs she was made to wear.

And thus with each passing night,
She was subjected to his vicious smite.
Her cries for help were paused
As marital **** was never stated in laws.

I welcome you behind these closed doors.
I have no other skeletons buried in my wardrobe.
Myra May 2020
Sixteenth of September,
six days after my sister was born
was the first time I remember it happening.

Body in my bed, I knew that was strange⁠—
I had always slept alone⁠—
but I didn’t know if it was wrong.
In school the next day
I looked around at all the girls,
I wanted to ask if this was normal.

I was twelve and I could not be sure
my body belonged to me.
I read horror stories,
compared myself to them and said,
you have faced a fraction of the full range.
I said, you were complicit,
he never told you to be silent.

I am seventeen still reading
article after article and I think:
my father is not evil,
my father does not deserve to be behind bars⁠—
who will feed my family?⁠—
but I think I would feel safer if he was.

          I think about one night
when he asked, “ does it feel good”
and I felt myself disintegrate.
I am not sure he heard what I heard:
does it feel good when I am making your body,
in which you will stand
for the rest of your life, unlivable?
Does it feel good when I am desecrating it,
when I make it unholy ground?

At the trial of our sins I will ask
God what my body is, and He will say
“it is a trust” and I will point to you and say
“then he has broken it.”
Note: At the time of writing (2018) I was Muslim. In Islam our bodies are an amanah, or trust, that is given to us.
Rozana Feb 2020
reach for my hand
i will not fail you this time
protect you and chase away your fears
make the shadows of the bad men disappear
follow my voice and come to my embrace
I will paint you a different childhood
carry us to a different place
full of giggles and innocence

i need to save you to save myself
my adult-self wanting to save my child-self
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