Talking about being abused is never easy. Admitting you’re a victim is hard. Being treated as a victim, or denied justice, takes it toll emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Even processing it in one’s own mind, reliving the hurt over and over again in flashbacks or nightmares , it’s like one’s own subconscious is against moving forward.
I can’t forgive. But I want to forget. And my own mind acts as a big EFF YOU DREM and does what it wants when it wants. I have no control once more.
I hate talking about it. I go through therapists like tissues. I have really bad allergies so that says a lot. I hate thinking about it. I can’t escape it. Even my sleep deprives me of relief.
So, I write. I write and write and write. And though it doesn’t help me, it gives me something to do. It occupies my time. It allows me to think of something different even though I’m thinking of myself. It allows an existential perspective. I don’t think it helps but I do it. Maybe it can help you…
This work is one of many in a line of around 5 of this year that center around past abuse.
This is one of my more personal works. It’s my mom’s favorite.
Please like/share/comment so I know you’re listening. We are survivors.
I Had a Fleece as White as Snow, a poem by Drem
Written September 29th, 2015
“It’s not supposed to be dangerous.
You lick them
and you don’t burn.
You’re a monster
or a demon.
In my own mind
you’re a villain
who was once
just a boy
I never knew.
And now you hurt people.
And now you hurt me.
And now you cry louder
than the lightening
because I called you out.
But I can’t wipe away your toxic tears.
They’ll burn away my fragile fingertips
and sting, leave scars
that will seal a fictional fate with you
as my love drug dealer
attached around my neck, in my mouth forever.
It’s been so long…
but sometimes I want to see the boy
I thought you were.
To call you
and for you to pick up the phone
and for you to talk to me like you used to.
I don’t think you exist though.
At least not in the real world.
I don’t think there was ever truth.
I think you lied your way through
convincing a sick girl, me,
she was really safe with you.
Being with someone
is not supposed to be dangerous.
You eat them.
Fire gives you the rage,
the strength to go on for days
to burn more people,
hurt more women
and lie (to your own mother) and take.
To take another little lamb
who is stuck in a fence.
Act as her evil savior.
Trick her into thinking
she’s only worth something
if she is in your slowly tightening hands.
…Please God save her from him
for I’m too burnt
from his fire.