A Poem on Surviving


IMG_3929“I am a survivor of sexual assault”

I hesitate.

I should’ve said something else,

But It’s too late to reverberate the sound waves,

An unannounced tsunami running from my lips to your ears—it’s heavy and strong and I feel guilty for letting it out, but I’m so tired of drowning. I’ve been dog paddling in this ocean for ten years…

My palms are sweaty.

My sentence triggers a biochemical reaction in my body, a memory, of thirteen year old fists that never formed to punch an enemy,

Adolescent wrists that went limp,

My hands begin to shake, again, moving closer and closer until they find one another, interlock in a hold like a bond that understands where they’ve been—

I’ve been hit. Right in the gut where the dinner I never had is supposed to be digesting—I couldn’t eat. Something about staying alive sometimes makes me want to die, it’s sick, but I tell myself that it’s not, because cliff hanging onto the edge of life is supposed to be better than jumping from it…

I look up.

Do the eyes staring back at me understand? it wasn’t my fault, was it? I didn’t ask for it, did I? Well, yeah, maybe I should’ve better… Someone else could’ve saw it coming… they probably would have fought…

pupils scan my face like a genius at the alter of his white board,

What will they find?

A person who deserved what They got and got what they deserved?

They finally lock onto mine

I used to know those eyes but now they look so unfamiliar, the eyes of a person who reminds me of a person.

I wait.

“I still love you.”

I’m in tears, taking a breath that expands to the bottom of my lungs, but it doesn’t burn anymore, it’s almost like… breathing feels good—like each inhale is a sign of life and each exhale is a sigh of relief that I’m still alive

When I finally look up again, and my eyes meet their reflection, I smile like I’m seeing an old friend return home for the first time.

I’ve missed me



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