I remember
Going to Jimmy’s house,
Waiting outside.
I see a man.
He wants to walk with me.
We walk.
He jumps.
Flying to the ground,
Unable to breathe.
Groping hands.
Him pressing me.
Sharp pains.
Muffled screams.
Heartfelt shame.
Horrible dreams.
Fade to black.
Running.
Him calling after me,
“Wait!”
“Let me walk you home!”
Don’t look back.
Just run.
Don’t look back.
Just run.
No words for this.
No thoughts for this.
No place for this.
Won’t talk of this.
Shut down.
Shut away.
Hide the panties.
Hide the pain.
Broken child.
Broken toys.
Dumpster in the back.
Fade to black.
[Turning to face God]
And where were you, Lord?
Among the leaves?
Amid the trees?
Along the path?
At the dumpster out back?
You were with me?
Really?
You silent thing.
I’m sorry.
If I’m crossing a line,
Please forgive me.
[Turning away]
I’m supposed to be what?
Grateful?
Let him now make me whole?
Be content,
Though he didn’t save my body
Or my mind
Or my heart,
He saved my soul?
Psalm 18 means little to me
Other than to show me what he did not do
Or did late.
He did not swoop.
He did not save.
Could have,
But didn’t.
Thing is,
I am grateful.
I am willing.
I am wanting.
I’m just still mad about it.
Sad about it.
[Turning back]
Hope that’s okay with you, Lord.
Photo Credit: Mindfullness — forest field
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I have had these same questions scream out of me toward Heaven. It is so hard to understand. During my therapy sessions, we would pray. Every time the Spirit showed up and gave me visions to see Jesus present during each violation. He was there, crying with me, often with His hands over my eyes or over my ears. He never left me. I pray now for mercy for those who hurt me because I know Judgement Day will come when God’s wrath will be released and we will all be accountable for our choices. Sin causes a twisting of the mind. Pedophilia is a sick, twisted evil straight from the pit of Hell. Woe to those who steal the innocence of God’s little ones. Woe to them. So, I pray mercy because I know revenge is His and He will have the last word. This isn’t over yet…
I love you Laura and I love that you are brave to put your tears into words on paper. I can feel your heart racing as you ran away and the fear of the man chasing behind. I wish I could meet that little girl on that sidewalk and lift her up into my arms. I would take her home, the whole time telling her it was not her fault and that that man is evil and that she is precious and treasured and beautiful. I would tell her how sorry I am that she was hurt so deeply. I would put her in a bubble bath with strawberry bubbles and have pretty, new, white panties and a new pink nightgown waiting for her. I would do everything I could to make it better, one hour at a time. And I would promise to never let her be hurt like that again. That’s what I wish…
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Sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your thoughtful reply, Candace. I’m much further down the road than I was when I was fifteen writing this poem, or even five years ago when I wrote the last half of it. Still, I’ll admit that I’m still not a fan of imagining Jesus with me as I was being raped. My therapist tried once. Not a fan. Can’t do it. Don’t like the image. Don’t want him there, frankly. I’ve explored some of the whys and wherefores of this. For one, it makes him complicit in ways I don’t want to imagine. Like, “Don’t just stand there, do something!” Which damn near smashes a rage button inside of me I’m not ready to smash. For two, if he’s a guy, forget about it. Angel? Cool. Guy? No. I understand God is omnipresent and omnipotent. Fine. He can be up there in the leaves somewhere. I can credit him with splitting something inside me to help me cope. And for letting me escape instead of letting me be a missing child never recovered or found raped and strangled in a wood. For comforting me when no one else even knew to. For gifting me with an awesome husband and children and healing, supportive friends and counselors. But, for the sake of my state of mind, no, he can’t be there. Not at ground level anyways. Now, the bubble bath, new panties, and nightgown, five year old me will take that. So will nine. Nine especially. Thanks, Candace. (((hugs)))