I just listened to your poem. I am 48 years old and I am sitting at my desk crying. I was molested when I was two. I have spent years in a chair looking at, talking to, screaming at various different therapists and at 48, it still makes me cry. At least it isn't a secret any more. Thank you.
When i was six years old, i was raped, by a man i didn't even know. The people i loved had all left me before that, and i was so alone that the only thing i could remember about the event was that it happenned. At about age 10, i began getting vicious nightmares, and at age 11, i found the book speak. At age 12 i was outcasted. And now at age 17, i dream of becoming an author, so that i can finally speak. When i finally finish one of the many stories zooming through my head, I intend to send it to every author that inspired me to dream. Laurie Halse Anderson, be prepared to receive a copy.
In this crazy world today, there are few who can create hope for the many (people) who feel lost or silenced. Sometimes those individuals are too busy avoiding the memories that when they finally have the time to stop and remember, it hurts. But it is because of inspiration like yours, that the pain is easier to handle and the secrets are easier to let go. It's a breath of fresh air because they can finally breathe again. Really, trully, breathe. I have not personally gone through such suffering but I have witnessed what it has done to some good people in passing. So on behalf of those victims, and everyone else, I give thanks. It is you who has the courage to renew life again; you who is unafraid to speak out and to stand up for those in need; it is you that revives this hope today. However small it may be, this hope still exists because of writers like you. Thanks again and God Bless.
this poem hit me. :( i never told anyone. i've tried but it always feels like no one ever wants to listen.. i was molested when i was about five year old. it was by my brothers best friend. i always thought "the pain will go away. a wont feel ashamed anymore soon!" it not true.. i thought "maybe i wanted this.. maybe he loved me, even though i was young. maybe it was okay" i hate lying to myself. i keep everything bottled up, until i have to say something. god.. i still remember it. he walked in to baby sitt me while my brother left to go chuck eggs at peoples houses.. how he touched me.. how he wanted to be touched. "are you scared? do you wanna see something?" most of the time i think sucide is the only solution.. but then i think i bet that would give him the sadisfaction. i wouldnt dare ever ever again giving him sadafaction..
Remember that cold night Where u stood in fright Alone, realizing that bad things really do happen at night You draw back, after the attack No one to talk to or you just don’t let them in Scared, hurt, fragile, Memories swirling in your head as you lay in bed He taunts you, NO, haunts you You try 2 tell, to no avail So sad like a snail You told her but she didn’t believe you You trusted them but they all just left you You have an escape from this retched world But its just a hole in the wall STOP, let the truth be told about that dirty little mole while you were trapped in your sad hole. Finally the truth is found, the hound is gone You are relieve, he can rot because you will not All you had to do was no longer be meek but speak
I was raped this past year. I was drunk. He wasn't. He said he would walk me home. Instead he left me on the ground. He laughed at me when I couldn't fight back. He told everyone I was easy, that I wanted to have sex with him. People laugh at me because of it. His friends point at me. I pretend to not see them. People ask if we did all the time. I tell them we never had sex, because, in truth, we didn't. Well, at least not in the way they imagined it, the way he told them it happened. I see him in the halls of school everyday & I can't breathe. His friends pat him on the back for "scoring" with me. I am scared to Speak too.
11 comments:
This poem is amazing. I can't believe it was based on letters she received.
Hmm...
Speak, Listen, Think...
Hmm...
I would love a written copy of this poem.
I would love to see what it looks like as a word cloud on wordle.net.
Do you have it posted in written form?
I just listened to your poem. I am 48 years old and I am sitting at my desk crying. I was molested when I was two. I have spent years in a chair looking at, talking to, screaming at various different therapists and at 48, it still makes me cry. At least it isn't a secret any more. Thank you.
When i was six years old, i was raped, by a man i didn't even know. The people i loved had all left me before that, and i was so alone that the only thing i could remember about the event was that it happenned. At about age 10, i began getting vicious nightmares, and at age 11, i found the book speak. At age 12 i was outcasted. And now at age 17, i dream of becoming an author, so that i can finally speak. When i finally finish one of the many stories zooming through my head, I intend to send it to every author that inspired me to dream. Laurie Halse Anderson, be prepared to receive a copy.
In this crazy world today, there are few who can create hope for the many (people) who feel lost or silenced. Sometimes those individuals are too busy avoiding the memories that when they finally have the time to stop and remember, it hurts. But it is because of inspiration like yours, that the pain is easier to handle and the secrets are easier to let go. It's a breath of fresh air because they can finally breathe again. Really, trully, breathe. I have not personally gone through such suffering but I have witnessed what it has done to some good people in passing. So on behalf of those victims, and everyone else, I give thanks. It is you who has the courage to renew life again; you who is unafraid to speak out and to stand up for those in need; it is you that revives this hope today. However small it may be, this hope still exists because of writers like you. Thanks again and God Bless.
I cry.
this poem hit me. :(
i never told anyone. i've tried but it always feels like no one ever wants to listen..
i was molested when i was about five year old. it was by my brothers best friend. i always thought "the pain will go away. a wont feel ashamed anymore soon!" it not true.. i thought "maybe i wanted this.. maybe he loved me, even though i was young. maybe it was okay" i hate lying to myself. i keep everything bottled up, until i have to say something.
god.. i still remember it. he walked in to baby sitt me while my brother left to go chuck eggs at peoples houses.. how he touched me.. how he wanted to be touched.
"are you scared? do you wanna see something?"
most of the time i think sucide is the only solution.. but then i think i bet that would give him the sadisfaction. i wouldnt dare ever ever again giving him sadafaction..
Remember that cold night
Where u stood in fright
Alone, realizing that bad things really do happen at night
You draw back, after the attack
No one to talk to or you just don’t let them in
Scared, hurt, fragile,
Memories swirling in your head as you lay in bed
He taunts you, NO, haunts you
You try 2 tell, to no avail
So sad like a snail
You told her but she didn’t believe you
You trusted them but they all just left you
You have an escape from this retched world
But its just a hole in the wall
STOP, let the truth be told about that dirty little mole while you were trapped in your sad hole.
Finally the truth is found, the hound is gone
You are relieve, he can rot because you will not
All you had to do was no longer be meek but speak
I was raped this past year. I was drunk. He wasn't. He said he would walk me home. Instead he left me on the ground. He laughed at me when I couldn't fight back. He told everyone I was easy, that I wanted to have sex with him. People laugh at me because of it. His friends point at me. I pretend to not see them. People ask if we did all the time. I tell them we never had sex, because, in truth, we didn't. Well, at least not in the way they imagined it, the way he told them it happened. I see him in the halls of school everyday & I can't breathe. His friends pat him on the back for "scoring" with me. I am scared to Speak too.
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