I want to know what it is like to hear the word "Childhood" and not feel terror

After    the rape,              I hated        my

self         for growing       up,

                                                   for being

alive,

for being                         gentle

                     with my

body.

            I hated myself          for living       

with    the        horror,      and learning

how

                to

                            like it

as if         healing from it       meant

I had

                   invited          

                                         the nightmare.

                                     I could see

                         only      

how   a monster

                 might endure pain     and      

graft on to it.

           I hated     myself           for     

opening                       the door

             and learning     to hunger

for the                places      

                                  I used to

                     run

from.

      If I         had been      a      better       

                                 person

      the incest pregnancy

                                        would never      have

chosen   me

or I     

            would have   at least       had the decency

to die   from the rape

                              before

                              he

                             finished.

This poem first appeared in Blood Tree Literature, 2023