SPLINTERS

Slivers of an unpleasant memory,

it grows with heavier thoughts.

Unwanted hands, unwanted touches;

. cover me with sickness.

His hands on me, mine placed upon him.

Fear is all I feel, paralyzing me.

He has a wife and my God, a daughter.

Even with my fear, I pray he hasn’t touched his child.

But I know that’s probably a dream.

For years this was kept to myself,

again fear held my tongue. No one will believe me.

 

Finally, I spoke of my horror.

But nothing happened, not enough in my eyes.

I wasn’t his helper any more.

No jail, no ridicule and he still had his family.

He wasn’t even beaten up by my father.

Mean while, I lost a part of my childhood,

meanwhile I lost a part of myself; never to return.

Tainted splinters lodged in my soul.

Shards of glass cutting my spirit apart.

My fear turned to, pain and anger.

Why am I the one who loses the most?

Why does he not seem to suffer from what he did?

Why is it the victim that goes through hell?

Not once, but over and over again.

I could let this consume me, I almost let it destroy me.

But I have finally learned, to use the sickness; to use what happened,

to write my darkest scenes.

I imagine the torture is his

That I make him my victim.

It is said that two wrongs, don’t make it right.

But right now, I will argue that it does.

My pain, is my pain.

And there isn’t anyone that feel it for me.

It is my cross to carry and I carry it every day.

I’m reminded, when I say cross of Jesus.

I wondered where he was,

when I was walking through my own hell.

No I do not blame him for what happened.

I blame the demon that touched me,

and he knows he shouldn’t have.

I still feel the pain, I still have the anger.

But I haven’t stopped living,

I will not stop living.

I will use my pain to write.

I will use the anger for my own darkness,

on each page the darkness pulls the words to the surface.

Just below my surface, lies the pain and the anger.

Its not something I share, at least, not often.

Not everyone knows what to do with this sort of information.

I’m not even sure what I would know what to do with it either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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