I can’t remember what it felt like to be broken,
to be stripped of clothes and innocence
or the fractured way that the knowledge was cuffed into my infantile mind.
maybe I had my eyes shut so tight that I just let him lead me between his legs.
maybe I simply closed my ears to every kind of word.
I had liked to pretend that he was the daddy I was lacking
and daddy’s loved their little girls
but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
all I remember was the dark hallway,
the shadows playing across the ceiling
and the gentle creaking of the floor;
the secret he made me promise to keep,
learning that the only real monster
I had to be afraid of was panting in the other room.
that was the first night I feared Hell.
the first night God pretended to be blind.
the first night I was ever really alone.
I was five years old.
Author notes
http://s223.photobucket.com/albums/dd204/mmt3363/?action=view¤t=0000000jpg-1.jpg
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Photos are in order and the best quality I could muster with my cell phone. My digital camera is MIA.
I have been debating putting this up for a long time. I wrote it a little over a year ago and have been too self-conscious to post it. Hopefully it'll be liked.
~Megan
A contest entry
- handwriting. by aanika.
1800 points, ends December 6, 30 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
This is not what I intended...
Comments
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its amazing. i agree with everything aanika said, it's just stunning. the last lines are so powerful and the part about being five years old just hits it out more.
this hits home.
it's amazing
writingfree -
i love this. it's so personal and raw and emotional and just amazing. you're so strong for writing this and the handwriting makes it even more hard-hitting.
your handwriting looks like your poetry, if that makes sense.
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i don't know where to look when reading this. it's like my mind runs over the lines again and again but i can't concentrate on one section for either i don't want to subconsciously or there's something i can't remember haunting me. this digs down into me like a fingernail into cuts of infection around my neck, or that part of your back you can never scratch when tied down. what's the point either way. vividly dark but dressed like one of those children in an adult tee ready for bed. what surprises me is the reference to God for such a young age. i feel like this should be dug into a bit deeper in interest of fully expressing whatever situation/feeling this piece is trying to evoke. either out of you or the past self. because this doesn't seem like a piece written for anyone else.
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