Like I've said before, I write what I know. Yeah, it's not always pleasant-it doesn't make you all "warm and fuzzy inside." Sometimes your own voice needs to be heard. Well, sometimes you just need to write to heal-and that's what I do.
*I've experienced sexual abuse as a child, by family, and I will forever be changed.*
ABUSE PART 1
Clammy feet stick to the floor
one
by
one
he creeps through the night.
Eyelids flutter in her dream state and
she
awakens
to
the sound of bare feet treading heavy.
Sweaty palms caress the door knob,
he
licks
his
lips in need of her-his forbidden temptation.
She sits up slowly in her bed,
folds
her
knees
to her chest in fear-her incessant nightmare.
ABUSE PART 2
I create lists-
black, brown, purple, yellow.
That's what bruises
look like-in stages.
He presses his fingers into
my skin,
as I beg him to stop,
through sobs and scratches.
His frantic fingers dig harder
and harder into me.
That's when I go numb
and lose myself.
