This is the third poem in my child abuse series. I have to tell you that I think it’s my best one yet. I think I really hit the emotions just right in it. Everyone who has read it so far has cried. So you’ve been warned LOL.
Sometimes it’s not about reliving the actual attack. Sometimes it’s about facing the mirror and seeing what’s in there. That’s what this one is about. Looking at the mirror and seeing what is a mirage and what is fact.
Spotting Glimpses of Color
As I sit here
staring into the looking glass,
smoking cigarette after cigarette
I wonder why life has to have a past.
As I blow smoke rings
out of my mouth I think back
to all the nasty things I’ve done
and wonder if there’s really something I lack.
As my eyes lose focus,
and my vision becomes blurred,
horrible images flood my brain
of a past best left undisturbed.
Childhood sexual abuse
left a little girl lost
in a woman’s body who
ultimately paid the cost.
Fuzzy pictures of being
held down to a monster’s bed
having my panties ripped off
another of wanting to be loved instead.
Foggy memories of tree houses,
spider webs, and wooded trails
all of which, today, leave me
shaking, terrified, and pale.
Glaring balls of light
keep much of the darkness at bay
figure my mind can’t take
what happened those long ago days.
All I can remember
is always waking up with pain
in my arms, chest, between my legs,
and tears falling like rain.
Maybe I’m lucky I don’t recall
every jab, strike, or invasion.
Even at such a young age
my mind kept me out of the equation.
I can’t claim to being perfect.
My past leaves that idea rejected.
But I know it happened.
On my soul it was infected.
I’m damaged goods.
I’m tarnished by guilt and shame.
I have a black spot deep inside.
It’ll forever carry his name.
The monster lives in my nightmares.
The lost little girl can never be saved.
All because no one paid attention.
They all just smiled and waved.
But the child grew up
into a woman some would call amazing.
She’s loved by one above all else.
And by someone who thinks she’s worth saving.
No matter how much you try to deny
you can’t undo the awful past.
You also can’t forget it’s formed
the mold in which you’ve been cast.
I’ve tried laying my demons to rest.
I can now look back and smile.
I look for the beauty in childhood.
Attempt to ignore the vile.
So, as I sit here
staring into the mirror,
smoking cigarette after cigarette,
and see the love of my life getting nearer and nearer.
