Day 9 of 16: A Story Called My Life

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Today is the 9th day of the #16Daysof Activism, and I wanted to share a poem. One that I wrote a while back, but still as relevant today as it was yester. It is a poem that is based on a true story, not mine. However, a while back, I met a girl that was a survivor of child abuse and molestation. I was inspired by her brevity to open up and share her experience.

Before you go on, please read some of the posts on the campaign:

A Story Called ‘My Life’

We were happy
Living from the hip of town
Wearing the finest of clothes
Our smiles so bright
As I skip walked
With my hands held by my mommy and daddy

Happiness lived in us
I believed in love
The love I saw my parents share
Emanating from their eyes
The tiny kisses they shared when they thought I wasn’t staring
Made me want that when I was older
See, they were the ying to each other’s yang
And I was the fruit they made from their love

But one cold night
The house went silent
Tiny sobs
His drunk figure supported by the wall
Tear marks on his cheeks
They had said mommy had gone to heaven
That she was now my guardian angel

Days passed
And I tried
To make daddy happy
See a smile on his face again
See love in his eyes
But they had gone cold
He had died while still leaving
A shadow breathing
Surviving on the beer he was drinking,
Every day

One night
He staggered through the house
Kept mentioning mommy’s name
When I tried to help him walk
He smiled weirdly
Called me “His Rosie”
Said I was back for him
So, while I backed away from him
He drew closer, walking like a lion hunting his prey
He backed me up till I had nowhere else to go

I remember feeling a sharp pain
I remember seeing blood
I remember looking in his eyes but not seeing my father
I remember my silent tears
I remember my eyes shutting
I remembered my mother

Every night after
He would walk in the house
Smelling of cheap alcohol and cigarettes
Draped in clothes last washed by her
Every night, he would open my cage
Throw me on the bed
Have his way with me
Then leave satisfied

Every day, I crouched on the corner
The tears had long dried
My soul had crumbled
I would see my mother’s face
Anger would boil in my throat
She should never have left me alone
Each day, I remembered a song I once heard on the radio
I sang it in broken wisps
“Daddy don’t touch me there,
I’m gonna tell on you one day, I swear
Can’t you see I’m scared
You’re supposed to be my father”

On the 5th of June
I waited for the night to be over
He waltzed in
Forced himself in me, it was rough
Her death day, he remembered
Then he looked closely at me
He remembered me
He fell down
His actions dawning on him
He ran out

I removed my blade
Cutting my skin in beautiful flowers
Wanting to see my blood so I could feel alive
Then I cut a vein
Saw a light
Saw my mother
she was weeping
But I was smiling
Happy to have finally escaped the cage called
“My life

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