I was only 10 the day you took my innocence,
Unknowing of your evil intent
I trusted your sneaky smile
your deceitful words
I remember the feeling of your hands around my neck,
The way you held me down
Against my will
I tried to stop you
I was too weak
just a kid
And I cried out to you to stop,
But you didn’t.
I lay here,
I count my sheep just like a good girl.
I smile with my teeth and dress in nice clothes.
I'm your Little Miss Perfect.
But I'm not as innocent as you think.
Not after he forced me against his sheets,
and tied me to the void of hate
Dripping down my esophagus.
Like the salvia you coaxed down my throat,
Icy cold and bitter.
Purple chrysanthemums blooming,
On my pale, once innocent flesh.
Eyes fogged by deception,
I am unable to escape you.
The seed of regret plants itself in my heart,
Roots of the weeds rip through me,
Polluting the heart, tainting the blood.
Paralysed, you force me down and tear me apart.
Fog clears my vision
just like drug laced honey you fed me
I see your true form in the window of my future
Pathetic old man, I’m not afraid of you.
Your claws saturated with manipulation
Grasp and tear at my flesh
But you can’t trap me here any more
I’m not your hostage
This is a poem about my experience being about being groomed. I’m not the best at poetry, I just use it to vent.
Women live their lives being defined as a little slash in a box labeled “no” written on a torn slip of paper. As if the way our pencil feels about another’s paper means we aren’t worthy of love at all.
Some people handle their “no” decently, and go on about their days with a tiny knot in their gut, and others change into the people our parents warned us about.
Most of the time, these people are the ones that take it too far. They shove unwilling answers down throats and push ideas into shaking heads. If our mouths scream no so do our bodies.
Then there are those that don’t even bother to pass the note. They know that they are built in the right way, we can’t leave even if we want to.
The way she chooses to dress does not tell you if it is consensual. Her body resembles the most valuable type of gold and when “men” like you take advantage of that, it hurts. It’s heartbreaking in so many ways.
You mock her worth with ****** knuckles and furrowed brows. A voice that has women trembling at the thought alone. You would rather let us live our lives looking over a shoulder than accept an answer you were hoping not to get. Forcing yourself between crying lips and thighs.
You may be satisfied when it is over but you will never have enough. Raising yet another fist and crushing a trust that was once so strong. There is never an excuse for actions so careless.
Who I choose to **** will never define me, but who you choose to respect will always define you.
I wrote this a few weeks ago and was hesitant to share it online. It is such a sensitive topic but I feel like it is something that needs to be talked about more in the world we live in.
Your house was the only safe haven when she met you. At home, she was beat. At school, she was beat, so she couldn't tell the difference between "tough love" and "learning her place" bruises. When she met you, she was attached to her big sister. Her sister told her to keep you company while her sister gave herself away again and again. You watched her while she slept. She woke up in your arms from a nightmare not realizing that the reality she woke up to was the nightmare that would haunt her for the rest of her life. You pushed her down and ripped away every sense of safety she had ever felt. She could hear them in the other room. They sounded like they were having so much fun and all she could think about was why was she not having fun? Why did your breath on her neck make her want to swallow herself? Your hands on her neck made her wish she were already dead? Your hands in between her legs made her wonder what was wrong with her? Why was she not enjoying this? Of course she couldn't tell her sister. How could the little girl ruin that for her best friend? After the first time, you got more confident. You brought toys of torture that you use to tear apart her sanity and replace it for hatred for everything that made her a woman. She has learned to detest her hips because you looked her in the eyes and told her you couldn't resist them. How did that 10 year old process that? She learned to cover up all her curves and stay out of everyone's way. She learned to never say no because that just made things worse. She has learned to hide away. If you ask her about it today, she will deny it because she doesn't want to face the reality that you broke her. If you asked me today how I knew this horrid story, I would say, she is me.
i've always been angry
it has been a burning in my bones
an acid in my stomach
a restless warrior in my head.
some may say
i came into this world
looking for a fight.
but i'd argue that when i was born
the fight found me.
it was passed down
from generations of women
with hands branded into their bodies
and tongues cut out of their bloodied mouths.
i yearn for rest
but their stories push me back into the ring.
there is work to be done
fights to be won
There is a pit that has made a home in my stomach
it's been living there, growing there
since the day you laid your hands on me
the day you slid your hands to places they had no right to be
the night you took advantage of the position
you knew you had
ever since then there are words that make my head foggy
and there are boys who can put me **** close to cardiac arrest
just by looking
for a little too long
you called it miscommunication
you called it regret
you called it asking for it
I call it assault
I call it waking up at 3 AM every morning
in a cold sweat, another nightmare
I call it scrubbing myself raw every night in the shower
trying to rid of the skin cells your fingers grazed
I call it jumping whenever my kind boy reaches for my hand
out of love
you are a man made of dirt
you are a lion
so why are you preying on butterflies
I don't know when I allowed you to tear off my wings but I am reclaiming them
Time is the difference
Between crying when a boy
Touches you between your legs,
Because he wouldn’t listen to no,
And laughing when a man
Traces gentle pictures on your skin
Because he waited for your yes.
Your words were meant to break me
taming me so that I was easier to swallow
chaining me to you
but I refused to become a slave
to yet another master
whose eyes greedily undressed women
and hands invaded lands they had no claim to
These limbs of mine
were not made to be shackled