4 views
I remember now
My heart is breaking and mourning the life, before, that at some point I could no longer remember; But am now able to recollect and recalibrate with care. I can’t believe you were there.
Every part of who I was is a fragment of who I am; Am I betraying myself?! Would I be proud of myself?! Am I who I thought I would become?! That little girl I once was— remembered everything— she knew what to do, at all times— way before her time. How do I rely on her now? She’s not a child.
The fragment of glass you gave me reflected only one perception of the moon; Whilst yours reflected your own. When the sun rose there was a different type of light; Bright and transcendental. The colours were so beautiful and the glass even more so. Thank you for the peace; I slept well because of you— until they forced me to wake and bleed. Until I knew what they did to you too.
Every night— every waking day; Every breath of joy— every moment of tranquility— every feeling, knowing, thought, and connection of love— all that I loved had to be hidden. Whenever they would find it they would try to take it away; They would try to destroy it and project instead their own hate. They tried to force me, you, the people we loved and still love; The people we never knew, or had a chance to know, and innocently, desperately prayed for.
Yet, god and Jesus never could protect any of us— because it was never real. Those men were the devil they ‘feared’ in front of others. Until they felt glorified by it, when the crowds of victims were drugged; They created god for their own protection. They created Jesus for their own inspiration; To cover their tracks and hide their lies. Until they spoke of them again with a grin on their faces, with jokes they kept repeating; That they knew were distasteful to their wives and psychopathically fulfilling to them and the men they enjoyed doing it with.
They were all men; They were all grown up men and they were all angry; There were many of them and our little bodies couldn’t fight all of them. But, they were also young boys and growing boys who enjoyed what they were doing; Who also praised what they “had to look forward to”. There were many women; They were also grown up women and they were all angry. But those women could never hit, refuse or cover the little bodies the way those men did. It’s all a blur for many of us I imagine; But I know what I remember. I know what I did to fight back even when my legs and arms were still too podgey. When they called me weak, laughed and hit my mummy; I saw her cry many times. I saw my older sisters, friends, family, cry too— each time they were raped and bruised. I saw them fight for me too. They fought back; Because no child wants to be treated that way. No young girl or boy wants to watch the people they love be treated that way. I too would do the same for my baby sisters.
Life has become much of an illusion;...
Every part of who I was is a fragment of who I am; Am I betraying myself?! Would I be proud of myself?! Am I who I thought I would become?! That little girl I once was— remembered everything— she knew what to do, at all times— way before her time. How do I rely on her now? She’s not a child.
The fragment of glass you gave me reflected only one perception of the moon; Whilst yours reflected your own. When the sun rose there was a different type of light; Bright and transcendental. The colours were so beautiful and the glass even more so. Thank you for the peace; I slept well because of you— until they forced me to wake and bleed. Until I knew what they did to you too.
Every night— every waking day; Every breath of joy— every moment of tranquility— every feeling, knowing, thought, and connection of love— all that I loved had to be hidden. Whenever they would find it they would try to take it away; They would try to destroy it and project instead their own hate. They tried to force me, you, the people we loved and still love; The people we never knew, or had a chance to know, and innocently, desperately prayed for.
Yet, god and Jesus never could protect any of us— because it was never real. Those men were the devil they ‘feared’ in front of others. Until they felt glorified by it, when the crowds of victims were drugged; They created god for their own protection. They created Jesus for their own inspiration; To cover their tracks and hide their lies. Until they spoke of them again with a grin on their faces, with jokes they kept repeating; That they knew were distasteful to their wives and psychopathically fulfilling to them and the men they enjoyed doing it with.
They were all men; They were all grown up men and they were all angry; There were many of them and our little bodies couldn’t fight all of them. But, they were also young boys and growing boys who enjoyed what they were doing; Who also praised what they “had to look forward to”. There were many women; They were also grown up women and they were all angry. But those women could never hit, refuse or cover the little bodies the way those men did. It’s all a blur for many of us I imagine; But I know what I remember. I know what I did to fight back even when my legs and arms were still too podgey. When they called me weak, laughed and hit my mummy; I saw her cry many times. I saw my older sisters, friends, family, cry too— each time they were raped and bruised. I saw them fight for me too. They fought back; Because no child wants to be treated that way. No young girl or boy wants to watch the people they love be treated that way. I too would do the same for my baby sisters.
Life has become much of an illusion;...
