top of page

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

Comment on Social Media

  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • YouTube
bottom of page