I am not…

I am not a frightened child, who tiptoes to reach the bathroom door,

Because I’m bleeding and want a bath.

Too small to reach a door, and yet I know:

Sit gently into the water, too fast and it will burn again…

 

I am not the tiny girl, too scared to sit upon an adult’s lap,

With peeling nail varnish on my toes,

Who goes rigid, cold, at the rhyme:

Round and round a garden, like a teddy bear…one step, two step…

Tickle you under there. (not anymore, I refuse.)

 

I am not that child, biting my lip at your tearing rape,

Because I used the wrong milk, in your tea

No tears from me, until I sob:

As you hurt and break my poor my teddy bear.

 

I am not the devil reborn, and I am not Satan himself

My hair colour speaks not of my heart,

No ritual will spare you, no sacrifice will win,

I am not tied to a table, in my pink nightie.

 

I am not an object for you to consume and abuse,

Nor an object to carry out your sick work,

The blood lies only on your hands

I can scream, I can cry; I am real, I am alive.

 

I am not that girl, who sells herself in shame,

Tied to a bed, dazed, and sore,

As you groan in my ear and I think:

Will I have time to do my homework tonight?

 

I am not the girl you reduced to a grey number,

For months not even granted a name,

Til I was barely a human, a projection of your soul,

And a child who didn’t want to breathe again.

 

I am not the number you shouted, I don’t lie and wait in the dark,

Shivering and aching, pain lost in time

Was it nighttime or day now?

If I’m locked up, is it me that’s to blame? (No.)

 

I am not the fighter chained tight to rough walls,

Wrists bleeding as my screams choke me,

I am not the victim being tortured, wondering:

Will you rip, burn or beat me?

 

No longer am I the one counting the tools,

Thanking God it’s just three for today, and all sharp,

Because sharp heals fast, and blunt heals slow,

I am not the child begging for scalpel… rather than rolling pin

 

I am a woman, not just a survivor but a thriver,

A voice speaking out from the dark,

There’s a fire in my eyes never dimmed,

There’s fierce love in my heart never lost.

 

I am a mother, who cradles my lost children,

My arms heavy with the grief you have caused,

And I am proud of each of their souls,

I will fight for each child that is ever lost.

 

I am a singer, a student, and a writer,

A friend and a soldier of your war,

You cannot harm me with anymore poison,

I AM NOT 49184 ANYMORE.

 

I am not a child being abused anymore. I am not a number being tortured. I am not a teenager selling my body in shame. I am not terrified into stunned silence. I am not bleeding and scared of blood spoiling the carpet.

 

I am a survivor.

 

 

 

 

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3 thoughts on “I am not…

  1. Yep, just like the other two wrote before: Very powerful, indeed.
    It seems to me that – even though you might not be able to see it yet – you are growing stronger and stronger, more so than you’ve ever been. There may be setbacks, breakdowns, whatever. It seems to me that you’ve come too far up out of the depths of your sufferings to be ever thrown down there again.
    I have read all your blog here after I stumbled over it. Since English isn’t my first language, I’m not getting the meaning of some points, but only very few. But what I am getting is: You are looking forward VERY much, you have the power to even look back. You have successes. Many things, events and people, of course, to draw your much needed positive energy from, supporting and encouraging you when needed.
    And even though it might be painful to you: I LOVE that you’re not numbed by your experiences. Not being able to feel would relieve you of the pain (but retaining it) and at the same time deprive you of all the joy you experience (of music, for example. I share that particular one).
    So:
    Thumbs up, keep your head up (you won’t be sticking it into the sand, anyway, I guess) and keep on going.

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