A poetic journey through my mind

Nightmare (Trigger warning: graphic images, child abuse, sexual abuse)

This one was hard.  It is very personal and isn’t very good, but I couldn’t stand to look at it too long so it stays as it is for now.  It was written partly in response to a prompt about Nightmares…and partly because it needed to get out.  I may yet feel inspired to put the prose version…the complete version…up, but not for a while yet.

blistered feet on lonely road,
mornings defiance fades with the heat,
the confident step with which she strode
replaced with a slower, faltering beat.

determination and childish pride
force her, limping, up the road
dreaming of air-conditioned ride
and respite from her heavy load.

dusty pickup, man inside,
caution makes her stop and think
to run or stay and take the ride
his weight provides the missing link

his bulbous size and her sleek form
make the decision practical
should he seem beyond the norm
she’ll run from him with movements tactical.

so into the cab go grateful feet
a smile for his reward
perched carefully on edge of seat
pretending to be slightly bored

a story slips from brain to tongue
a husband, and a runaway,
though surely he knows she is too young
he nods and listens anyway

asking questions quite unfit
for newmade “friends” of any age
but as she thinks she asked for it
she babbles on as if onstage

her destination made clear
he offers refreshment for the trip
promise of sugar stills her fear
and in his eyes the shadows rip

pop and pastry in her lap
they head once more toward the road
a hunter who waits to close the trap
he sighs, as if with heavy load.

he works “right here” in wooded plots
future happy family homes
the marked out “streets” are lined with lots
and at each end, a houses bones.

he must sign out from his work
and with him she cannot be found
so will she wait here in the murk
till he, with quickness, comes back round?

fear and guilt shake out a yes,
while denial has its say,
she sits inside the half-built mess
and hears the truck go on its way

she wanders to the open door
gazing out into the eve
at endless street and woods and more
that wait for her if she should leave

mind wraps heart in muffling song
the greyness coats her sight
body eats from habit strong
and dusk deepens to night

at last the pickups headlights beam
like screams they light the street
her limbs are lead or so they seem
and trash lies at her feet

he seems surprised to see her there
but quickly his smile returns
he brushes one hand through her hair
and behind his eyes he burns

do me a favor, please, he mumbles
his hand upon her shoulder
standing she moves without a stumble
the grey cocoon grows colder

what happens next she’ll never tell
the darkness hides it from her
only the awakening and the smell
the rest is a shivery blur

I’m sorry, he cries, I always am,
but I can’t seem to help it
I’ll make it up to you, I always do
and I’ll never do it again!

The words are lost in heartbeats roar
she pulls her ruined armor on
she thinks at least he’ll do no more
but his cruelty is still not gone

a worn out twenty dollar bill
is stuffed into her hand
the shame flares hard enough to kill
but he doesn’t understand

shuffling back to the cab of the truck
curling into herself
she struggles to feel, but breathes only muck
the world way up high, on a shelf.

15 responses

  1. This is a wonderful portral of the horror suffered by those robbed of their innocence and selfworth…. What can the future hold. So well written.

    April 4, 2012 at 5:26 am

  2. Very raw and emotional and scathing. Well done!

    April 4, 2012 at 8:33 am

    • KC

      Thanks. Technically it’s only half a story, but it was making me physically ill to hold it long enough to wrestle into words. Maybe after I read it over and over until it turns into “just another poem”…maybe then I can finish it. Or put the rest into whatever form it chooses. *hugs*

      April 4, 2012 at 12:12 pm

  3. Well done…to write and in the writing. No need to rush back to it. If you can, fine. If not, it will wait for editing. *rabbit cuddles*

    April 4, 2012 at 1:46 pm

    • KC

      *pets* Thank you my favorite bunny poet…I needed to hear that. My hand keeps twitching toward the “edit/trash” button whenever I come here, but I just keep reminding myself that it is as much a necessary “window” into an issue as any of my others…this one just happened to be -my- issue. *hugs*

      April 4, 2012 at 4:38 pm

      • Not sure if it helps (sometimes it doesn’t…I know), but there are all too many who share similar issues. I’m feel both thankful and guilty that mine isn’t as deep as yours. Doesn’t mean we emerged unscathed though, does it. I guess I try to see it as lancing-healing wounds, and getting strong enough to help others do the same.

        April 4, 2012 at 6:21 pm

  4. KC

    *ear-scritches* Bunny my bunny. There is no “deep” or “shallow” when it comes to soul-wounds. Scar tissue is scar tissue, and every wounded heart carries its share. I used to play that game…”It’s not so bad, what happened. See, that’s worse, and that…aren’t you glad you aren’t them? And after all, yours was your fault…so you don’t -deserve- to hurt…or cry…or bleed.” It took me a looong time to learn to talk to myself as I’d talk to others. Still get it wrong sometimes…but I’m nice, so I tend to forgive myself. 😉

    (Also, the above? That’s the Therapist. She’s helpful, but kind of a pita sometimes. 😛 )

    April 4, 2012 at 6:47 pm

    • Ok, first I understand the correcting how we talk to ourselves. I’m a bully when it comes to that kind of talk. I’m working on it, getting better, and like you, I forgive-forget more naturally. So glad that’s part of my makeup.

      Second, I’m still chuckling at the “pita” comment. I had one of those too. You love ’em most of the time, and you head-shake and eye-roll the rest (with a hidden grin).

      Boils down to this. We’re awesome treasures of femininity, even when we forget to shout it. Here’s to howling/rabbit dancing under every phase of the moon.

      April 5, 2012 at 3:48 pm

  5. artblablablablog

    This is wonderfully written, very raw and takes you right there because you feel what is going to happen. Well done.

    April 5, 2012 at 8:17 am

  6. Oh, this is unfornately a nightmare shared by far too many young women all over the globe. Your shining talent has placed a proper spotlight on this terrible issue of sexual abuse, of being a transient and being female! I really think you have done a tremendous service by posting this today.

    April 5, 2012 at 2:00 pm

  7. Geneseepaws

    well written, but I won’t critique it. It’s way to close to me, read my journals if you wanna know why.
    But indeed well written.
    And Willowdot21? They grow up broken, and then fall apart. Some, for sure, soldier on – but some are broken beyond repair, beyond redemption, — some when they finally admit what happened, discover he’s been dead for a decade or more. Even his daughters wouldn’t come to his funeral.

    April 6, 2012 at 8:21 pm

  8. KC

    I apologize to everyone for the content of this comment yesterday/last night. I hope I didn’t offend anyone.


    April 6, 2012 at 10:38 pm

    • No rabbits offended. Please don’t worry about offending anyone. You wrote tactfully about something that is far from tactful. it’s just plain wrong. Just so you and I don’t worry. I’m not offended. I’m very pleased to meet you and am enjoying this growing blog-connected friendship.

      April 7, 2012 at 4:22 pm

      • KC

        Thank you, my rabbit poet friend. I am enjoying getting to know you and so many others. Would it be presumptuous to ask if there was any way we could talk a bit more privately? Email perhaps? I just know there is a lot I would like to discuss with you, but this is an inconvenient medium. 🙂


        April 7, 2012 at 5:04 pm

  9. I’d love to. My gravatar should lead you to the right email address.

    April 7, 2012 at 10:12 pm

Talk to me, people! ;)

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