Five Thousand Six Hundred and Seventy Two

 Trigger Warning:
This poem is directly influenced by a negative part of my life 
and I caution readers to make the smart decision of only reading this if you are safe.


I remember your teeth being rotten, your nails jagged and long -
I remember the high pitched squeal when you whistled that song.
I keep a photographic collage in my head of who you are -
Small kid with a sick obsession of causing lifetime scars.
Twisted and mental, your trick was striking fear,
knowing I would believe every single thing that I could hear.
The sound of my brain screaming made it difficult to understand,
The movements of your extremities were never helping hands.
You tied the noose around this life that I continue to live in,
making me question every freckle presented on my own skin.
Red eyes, I swear to god, you're the devil in so many ways,
orders kept me on my knees, and like a canine, I obeyed.
A thief of epic definition, you stole the one thing I can't get back,
along with the light in both my eyes and the courage I now lack.
The monster I encountered was never in my closet or under my bed,
he was living next door with his own master plan of getting inside my head,
and more than that, my little skirts too, six year old me is still scared to this day-
you've made me do a double take every time someone asks me if I want to play.
At this point you are imprinted in me, your poison still travels through my heart,
five thousand six hundred and seventy two days since you decided it was time to start.

It's time

How many times have I broken down from the thought of his control over my life? I've had his grip on my shoulder, realisically and figuratively, for fifteen years. a decade and a half of looking over my shoulder, of shuddering when I see him walk by, of avoiding my front porch as much as possible. I never chose for him to take what he took from me. I never asked him to torture me. I never agreed to any of it. It was out of my control. I have come so far in my recovery, I don't deserve being shut in this box anymore. He does not deserve my energy and emotions for something like this. I have always said that I don't blame anyone but him for what happened, so why do I keep pushing myself down? I was six years old. I didn't understand the severity of it all until it was too late. I didn't tell anyone because I was threatened not to. I refuse to keep blaming myself for something that I in no way had control over. I'm not going to victimize myself anymore. HE was the one that started it all. HE was the one that pushed me into darkness. HE was the one that took more from me than I can even comprehend. Not me. I did what I could to make it stop. I did what I could to survive as a young child with her world flipped upside down in the blink of an eye. And you know what? I did a pretty damn good job at surviving if you ask me. Yeah, I may be trying my hardest at 21 to get my life on track, and as much as I curse my life at times and as much as I sometimes wish it would all just stop, I know there's something beautiful on the other side. I need to do this for myself. I am better than this. I deserve more than this. And it starts today.

A (hypothetical) Hand to Hold

This is me. Well, me as a three (or so) year old. This is the me I wish I could say grew up. Something changed though, and that something remains burned into me forever. I know exactly what it was, which makes it a little easier to swallow, yet at lot more difficult at the same time. My childhood was not an easy one. Not in any way, shape, or form. I can literally say that it screwed me up beyond belief. The past few months have been weird though. I haven't been thinking about it as much, and if I do, it's more of "how do I move on from this" instead of a "why did this happen to me." Don't get me wrong, I will always wonder why it happened to me, but I've learned that I need to let go as much as possible. It's been thirteen years. A near year of abuse, and thirteen years later, I'm starting to recover. I can't tell you if I will ever forgive him for what he put me through. What he made my life into. But I'm learning that I need to let go of the hurt. The anger. The fear. There's nothing he can do to me anymore. That six year old little girl that he hurt so badly will reemerge one day. I've already seen glimpses of her, and I'm ready to see her fully. I'm trying to keep my head on my shoulders and I'm figuring out I can do that easier with a hypothetical hand to hold. No one can do this but me, and I know it's time. It's time to tackle the emotions and the memories. From this day forward, he will no longer have a hold on how I live my life.