I am lying here silently still in my bed, with thoughts of confusion flowing through my head.
These hands that touch me are not mine. This unwelcoming feeling sends a chill down my spine.
Night after night this dark one appears, with the same intentions that in return leave me in tears.
These incessant acts of abuse towards me are like steel chains that will never break free.
My innocent and helpless body is controlled by another; A man who is suppose to love and cherish my mother.
Four years have gone by and this confusion still taunts me; and I question myself, is this what a father’s love is suppose to be?
I then realize that I am a witness of an irreparable crime, that left me in trauma and pain all of this time.
I am now the silent witness in fear, that screams from the inside for help… but nobody can hear.
I wrote this poem when I was 18 years old. It was 7 years after I broke the silence that my father was molesting me. It started in 2nd grade (from what I remember). Finally in 5th grade I said something to one of my friends. I only told her because she said she had a secret that she couldn’t tell anyone, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to say that my father was touching me and doing things to me that a dad shouldn’t be doing.
Fast forward to life now. I am almost 42 years old. My father was in and out of my life… by my choice. Eventually I decided I no longer needed to make myself feel uncomfortable by going to family get togethers that included him. I owed him NOTHING!! I withdrew from anything having to do with him.
Currently, I still have so much hurt and anger towards the whole abuse. He didn’t receive ANY type of consequences. He denied everything!! He gets to live his life never getting punished for ruining my life.
There is A LOT to my story that is not told in this little bit. But I wanted to share the first poem I ever wrote about the abuse.