By: Anonymous

when heart is starving, food is survival
feeding oneself a means of revival

heart under bone, broken to eat
cracking oneself a way to the meat

heart was weak, softer than veal
under-nourished but enough for a meal

now heart is muscle, tougher than steak
medium rare but harder to break

Ctrl- Alt- Delete

By: Richmaggs

Tell the truth, you said. Never tell me a lie.
So I did as you asked and your light nearly died.
So from then on I lied if you asked for the truth,
Am I ugly and fat – am I rude and aloof?
Your questions unfair as I stammered afraid,
Another wrong answer, another tirade
Of violent abuse aimed solely at me
From your mine of self loathing, a vile purgatory.

So I’d tell the truth and see your fading smile
And then backtrack to a lie just to keep you alive.
You bestowed me a power to turn your troubled world dark,
Beneath the cracked eggshells your path always black.

I’d bend and twist truths at your subconscious request,
But the sowed seeds of doom would scatter and fester
In your damaged mind while I’d be left shivering
Alone on the outside with my psyche withering
With the scars of your life to love and to cherish,
My presence defined – I will not let you perish.

Feeding you your lies went against my honest grain,
But it was all I could do to help you refrain
From sinking beneath your rapid white water,
A life without you is all I ever thought of.
Yet I remained your pawn in the mate I’d never win,
How could I run away and let you do yourself in?

To hide you from truth wasn’t just my decision,
Our scalpel of lies caused the first deep incision.
Lies to hide your past and lies to protect
You from yourself and so no one would suspect
That it was you and not me that repulsed you the most,
The uncomfortable truth of a little girl lost.

So it’s over, it’s gone – should I have ever let you in?
Would someone please restore me to my factory setting.
Your turbulence and torment didn’t bring my defeat,
All I ever needed was Control Alt Delete.

January 2012

Check out more of my poems at http://www.booksie.com/richmaggs

By: Anonymous

This past summer, I went to FL with my legit best friend. We went to dinner and then left and went down to the pier. There, we met some guys, two of them stood out among the rest. Josh and James. They were anywhere between 19 and in their early 20′s. I still have no idea how old they actually were but I’m positive they were at least 19. I’m 15. The four of us hit it off and they walked us down to the park. My friend and James gravitated towards each other and then Josh and I gravitated towards each other. After some voluntary making out they walked us back to the hotel room. My friend and I got changed and waited for them to come back. We had now given two complete strangers our hotel and our room number. They came back and laid with us in our beds for a while before we snuck out of our rooms at about 3am and walked along the beach with them. James was treating my friend like a princess. Josh was treating me fine but I got a feeling in my stomach that this wasn’t the best idea. They walked us down to the opposite pier. He sat down on this bench and pulled me onto his lap. We started making out.. which I was fine with..but then he laid me down and he was on top of me. I could feel my legs tighten as his hands fumbled, the dark mixed with the drugs. Then I felt it. His fingers slipped inside me. I laid there. Unable to move. I had no idea what drugs he had taken but I knew he was high. I laid there and survived. I hung out with him after that, since my friend was obsessed with James. James turned out to be a really great guy, and yet again I fell for the shitty one.

By: Anonymous

I’ve never actually told anyone the whole story, but here it goes…

when i was 5 he would hit me, push me, yell at me. when i 6, he did the same.. it gradually escalated until i was 8 and he raped me. from then until i was about 13 he would rape me at least once every time he would see me if not more.. the abuse lasted for 8 years. i can still hear his threats whispered in my ear as he pinned me to the bed.. pushed inside me and stole from me. i can feel his hands everywhere they shouldn’t be. his lips tasting forbidden places. at night i still wake up and feel him in me. the more pain i feel, i can watch his eyes light up..as he slowly drains the light from mine. i can feel the heaviness of my pain and fear as it wells in my chest. my eyes stinging from the tears i can’t cry. him inside of me was one of the worst pains i think i’ll ever feel. but ik i am a stronger person bc of it…

By: v

Boxed my shadow,
Knocked her to the floor.
Chased my demons,
Locked them out the door.

Strung out high,
On brittle hope and fragile trust.
Ceasing to deal,
With his wicked lust.

Learning to accept,
An inconceivable truth.
Clouded with secrets.

Places where scars have wept blanket my soul.

Vile eyes take me in.
I turn my back,
He’ll never win.

The fingers that once clothed my body,
And buried my love
Deep beneath my bare skin.

Unearthed an intoxicating rage,
A steady willingness to fight,
A yearning to disengage,
From the past,
From the monster.
Extract myself from the binding ties.
But an eye for an eye,
Leaves the whole world blind…

heart2heart

By: Anonymous

In life, there are few boundaries that do not get crossed. There are few people you find you can actually trust whole heartedly and there is no one you can rely on more than yourself. But there are times, when certain boundaries are crossed, you must rally the few you can trust, including yourself, and rebuild yourself to more than you were before. To those who are newly entering the stage and stumbling over their lines, hang in there, I promise you it will get better. The more time you take to think over the script, old and new, you will get smarter, stronger and more superb everyday. The more times you fail, the more times you will grow. I know, that right now, it may seem like life is falling apart at all it’s hinges, or that all the good things pushed you out and locked the door. Just because your past (8yrs or 8mins) may not have been filled with amazing memories or even good ones, all the lackluster times you’ve had and will have, will NEVER determine the good ones to come. Whatever happened to you or maybe even is happening, you do not deserve it. Please, take a moment and reread that sentence because I’m pretty sure it didn’t sink in the first time. You do not deserve what has happened/is happening to you. Absoulutely no one deserves to be violated. I’m sure you’ve heard people say “[he/she] took everything from me..” and trust me, I felt that way too, but guess what? They didn’t. They can not take everything from you.. a lot? absoulutely. But you survived. They did not take your life.. YOUR life. They did not take your strength, if anything they made you stronger. They did not take away how amazing you are or how brave. You survived one of the most horrific, scary, painful things that can happen to a person. You, are a hero.

Most who read this will wonder how I can say all this. Why I have the right to address all of you and validate your feelings. Well, because I have been through it too. I’ve felt the anger, the frustration, the betrayal, the hurt, the pain, the shame.. all of it.

I’ve blocked my childhood almost completely. I remember, parts in pieces, just vague flashes. But then there are some, that come in crystal clear.

When I was 5, my cousin started abusing me. It started out slow. It really wasn’t too bad. But as the years went on, so did the abuse. Every year it would increase a little. When I was 8 he raped me for the first time.
The one clear memory I do have, is when I was 12. My cousin frequently stayed at my dad’s house(my parents were divorced when I was 8mo old). We slept outside my room, on the family room floor in separate sleeping bags. The T.V. was louder than it should have been in order to drown out any cries I may make. By now he should have known, crying was not something I was interested in. With my dad and stepmom asleep upstairs, I was now his life sized game board, he was free to play how ever he wanted, so bend the rules so he was always the winner. He rolled over in his sleeping bag, looked me thoroughly over, and posed the question, “do you know the three kinds of sex?”. I knew a lot at 12, a hell of a lot more than I needed to, but I did not know the answer to that question. Not knowing the answer to a question like that meant there would be an answer and that answer would be swiftly followed with a long, intriquite demonstration. Frantically, I tried to think of anything I could pass off as an answer but nothing came. I opened my mouth to say ‘no’, but the words got stuck. With a wad of words choking out my air supply, I simply shook my head. He proceeded to tell me that “#1 is where I put my penis in you, #2 is when I put my penis in your butt and #3 is where you suck on me.” Before the words had a chance to settle between us, my legs where squeezed so tightly shut, my eyes so widely open. I vowed to myself that I would not fall asleep. The ritual I had practiced for most of my life. Unfortunately, sleep took control and handed it right to him. In the morning, I was sore and scared. Before my eyes had even had the chance to peek at the morning sunlight, he looked me straight in the eye and said “do you want to know what I did to you last night?”. Those words still send shivers racing through me. I can hear them, clear as day, pounding in my ears.

There a few memories quite so clear, but I remember a lot of the abuse and rapes. My childhood as a whole though, has been pushed so deep out of my relms of remembrance that I don’t remember much other than those memories. It’s just too painful.

I finally came out and exposed what was happening when I was in 7th grade. There are times when I wish that life could go back to how it was before, but then I rethink about it and realize that I deserve more than that. I’m not an object, neither are you.

I went to the police and the CAC and then back to the CAC a year later for a second time. On the second time, the case made us to the ADA but no further. She said that there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute. Up until recently I felt he had won because there was no way I could touch him. He had gone free and I had ripped my family apart for no reason. Recently though, I came to the conclusion that I am the reason. I’m reason enough for myself to want better. I’m a good enough reason to stop this from continuing.
So are you. You are the best reason to speak up for yourself. You don’t need any other reasons.

I have a long way to go until I am 100% healed, and I may never be completely okay, but I will, I am, a stronger person than before. You will be too. Don’t keep your hurt silent. I am the first person to do whatever I have to so as not to hurt others, but you are just as important.

You are not dirty. You are not ruined. You are not broken.
You are beautiful. You are amazing. You are brave.
You, are a hero.

Dance

By: Joua Yang (Incest survivor), Milwaukee

They declared, “Dance in the rain”.
I did, except now I can’t tolerate the acid it contains.
Drenched in unbearable anguish, it is inevitable no shelter be found.
My eyes caved in long ago from the horror it has witnessed.
My heart, feasted on by the beastly creator of me.
My broken sky cried acid rain and I have no choice but to bathe the blackness.
Lord, bestow innocence upon these eyes once more
so they may come out of hiding.
Make the beast regurgitate my heart; mummify it back
into my restless echoing chest.
Unclothed, cold, and exposed to the bone
I deeply desire to see, feel, and be whole again.
I am but a wandering skeleton retracing my steps,
collecting lost flesh; nevertheless my soul is barely holding onto me.

maive

By: Feywit

maive “when there is an incredible change in performance in skill, power, morale over a short time” urban dictionary.

who knew you saw so clearly as a child

what all others closed eyes to?

a depth of knowledge without knowing.

the others of us held the sensation in our poisoned skins

for this had no name in that era. Maybe.

hairs raised on the neck. Warnings.

Cooties. Close.

The Heebeegeebees. Closer.

yet we spoke not.

speak not. of the victimization

of children.

who grow up bristling in spine

warped in Heart.

you locked yourself behind the

marginal safety of a locked bath

for hours.

hiding from in- house invaders.

now attacking.

signs seen in an eon past,

ignored by those delegated to our safety.

Interpreted as The Disobedient or Sullen child.

how was it, then

we never learned your secret of invisibility?

how convenient that cloak.

would have been. time

After time.

no voice carried the words.

we lacked the vocabulary

to ring the alarm.

gray tape encircled our pronouncements.

through generations.

now in our retirement years.

we finally pull hard on the tape.

with the same decades-old fears.

though, we are, indeed, stronger

having suffered the rages and cruelty

of men and their version of Power.

Now we are a force of our own.

none are not likely to forget.

We will remind them.

We must,

for it burns through.

Our souls.

even stronger

through a half century.

of seasoning.

it taints us as women.

with tinted hair.

fighting hard against the gray.

for each child casualty

in this battlement of

brute power.

results in  persons who see

each

man

As an offender.

If for this reason,

they call me a witch.

I am glad. For I have broken

snake charmer’s hex.

I did not have to remember these things, they have remembered themselves all these years.     Black Elk Speaks

Confession

By: Debra Butler, Austin, TX

There’s a place inside of me
Deep down, hidden for my sanity
Unseen, unheard
Too scary for many

Will I ever be ready?
Can somebody tell me
I yearn to know
What darkness lies inside of me

I close my eyes
Think of this place
But all I see is empty space
I feel it, I know it

Something horrible happened
Over and over again
It changed me
Will they believe me?

This may sound crazy
But maybe, just maybe
I don’t remember
The truth may kill me

Perhaps I should let go
I may never know
Oh well, I’m alive
I’m here for a reason

Should I have assurance in knowing
That I know nothing?
Do I need proof?
The scars will do

Oh wait, the burns
The nightmares
Obsession, Addiction, Perfection
To name a few

This is all so new
What should I do?
Truth be told
I will be bold

Those evil eyes
Are just a disguise
I know you’re in pain
But I’m not to blame

It’s really a burden
To be this uncertain
But I will do my best
To lay it to rest

Oh well, I’m alive
Life goes on
I’m not crazy
I’m here for a reason

The Statistics Miss So Much

By: K

I live in a world of statistics sometimes. It’s a byproduct of conducting research. You look at a person’s answer and you lump them into the other people in that category. By gender, age, race/ethnicity, or by whatever other characteristic you’re looking at. That person’s lived experiences get expressed by choosing one of the pre-set options I give them. We know the 1 in 4 statistic for women who will be the target of a sexual assault or rape. If I were conducting a study on it, there would be several questions to assess whether or not a person had been subjected to that horror, and it would all boil down to a few marks on a sheet of paper or clicks of the mouse. All that pain and anguish and those personal feelings get cut out in that moment, only to be brought up if I ask about them, or if they leave comments in the “anything else to add” space.

Two years ago, on paper, I would have looked like a “no” for sexual assault survivor. I would look like a “yes” now. So much has changed for me that will never be captured in those statistics. But I was not sexually assaulted two years ago, no. That is when I remembered it, that is when I realized what had truly happened to me. For four years, four years I repressed, ignored, wrote off my own sexual assault. Four years of feminism and standing up for myself, and I couldn’t recognize sexual assault when it happened. I am ashamed. I am sick.

I was so helpless. Fifteen, so young, strong-willed for a fifteen-year-old, but still fifteen. He was already emotionally abusive, but I didn’t recognize that then either. I broke up with him earlier that day. In retrospect, that conversation…I think he was trying to guilt me into staying with him, was trying to manipulating me into something, because he took what wasn’t even a slight as some sign that I wanted to break up with him. But I decided that I actually did want to break up, so we did. Of course, we decided to remain friends, and proceeded to walk to a mutual friend’s house, minutes after breaking up. So stupid, so willing to be nice, to give others what they want.

He must have been mad at me for dumping him and wanted to exert control over me again; that’s the only explanation I have. Of course, why should I have to explain his actions? They don’t make them less hurtful, they don’t make them less real.

He was standing behind me as we looked at something on the computer, and tried to touch my vulva. I said No. I said NO and pushed is hand away. He could have overpowered me. My No’s meant nothing to him. The creeping, horrible, this-can’t-be feeling that someone was going to touch that most private of places against my directly expressed will would not have made him stop. I think the only reason he stopped was because our friend was still in the room. Of course, he didn’t step in, didn’t say anything, may not even remember this incident that I can never forget.

My ex-boyfriend claimed he was joking and I…didn’t entirely believe him, but let it pass. Fifteen. Too young to know what to do. Too young to realize that I should cut ties with this person immediately. And I tried to never think of it again. For four years, I would never have applied the term “sexual assault survivor” to myself, because I never thought about that incident, I never considered it sexual assault. It makes me so angry. I want to go back in time to yell and scream. There are so many things I would say to this boy if I could go back in time, if my twenty-one year old self could briefly inhabit my fifteen year old self’s body. I would scream and rage and I don’t even know if I would care if he would understand my rage.

But if I ran into him today? I would turn and walk away, avoid, ignore, don’t make contact. He still scares me on a visceral, gut reaction level. He still has that power over me. I flinch when I see a person or actor that looks too much like him. But that has more to do with the enormous levels of emotional, verbal, and eventually physical abuse. According to mutual acquaintances, he has gotten nastier, more abusive over the years, a man I do not want to draw the attention of.

But time travel is not possible, and I am an adult now, one that has to live with her past. I’ve had two years to process something that happened to me six years ago with a heaping pile of shame and anger for not recognizing sexual assault for what it is. I mean, honestly, how unambiguous is that? How could I have let it pass? But I did, and here I am, and now I am me, the me who repressed and ignored it when a trusted person attempted to violate me. I am an adult me, an adult who can articulate No’s and call things like this fast and more surely, but part of me still fears that child-me will rise up and ignore huge violations to…to what? To “be nice”? To “not cause a fuss”? No. It cannot happen.

I am ashamed of those four years of ignorance, but in a way they were a gift. I had four years to grow into a woman and a feminist and learn the language of how to deal with sexual assault as an outsider, how to spot victim blaming and label it fucked up, and how to relate to men as friends and lovers without the spectre of a sexual assault hanging over me. But it’s here now and it will never go away. I have to learn to deal with this huge chasm of time and experiences. I’m still not really ready to talk about it with others. I’ve told two people, and not in any depth. Just the simple fact: my ex-boyfriend attempted to sexually assault me.

These experiences can never be boiled down to numbers, yet they are, frequently. And there are more statistics. I don’t get to be free from fear of sexual assault because I’ve already “had mine”. I’m still at risk. In fact, I’m disabled, which puts me at twice the risk of the average woman for sexual assault and rape (over the course of my lifetime…so what are the chances it will happen again? They don’t have reports on repeated assaults/rapes). What are the chances that after moving on, after successfully pursing healthy sexual relationships, after having control over my life and my body, that I will be made helpless again? I want to say it cannot happen, but then I am reminded that the very nature of sexual assault and rape means that I don’t get a say in whether it can happen or not. That’s up to rapists.