Finally Some Truth…

“HE” was my babysitter’s boyfriend, and I was the child who happened to catch his attention… It was late, Sara had just tucked my sister and I into bed when she sat down and began to talk to me.
“I’m tired.” I tried to turn over, but she grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me toward her. She had long red acryllic nails, and often used them to claw my sister’s and my arms.

“Listen! You little cunt!” I stared at her not saying a word. “I take care of you day and night and it’s time you paid us back.” She let go, and smiled. “Now, he’s going to come in here and talk to you, so behave or we’ll kill both your mommy and sissy, okay?”
She didn’t need to warn me, she had established a fear since our first encounter. I saw “HIM” come in, his shirt off and dressed only in his underwear. She kissed him on the cheek and then walked out, smiling at me. “HE” walked causally over to my bed and pulled me to his chest, beginning to suck on my neck and put his hand down my pants. I tried to squirm away, and began to cry.
“Shut up!” “HE” whispered. “HE” put his mouth against mine, forcing his tongue down my throat, and pulling down my pants with his one hand, and unzipping his pants with the other. “HE” began playing with himself. “Do you know what this is?” I shook my head no. “Do you want it?” “HE” gave me a look, staring at me–daring me to say no. I said yes. He turned me on my back and thrust himself inside of me. I could feel something warm running down my legs and soaking the carpet. It was blood. I could feel “HIM” tearing the walls of my vagina, and with every thrust I cried out in pain. “Say you want it!” He moaned “Come on tell me!!” I said yes, and he finally pulled himself out of me. “I’ll be back tomorrow and we can play again, okay? Think of it as a Happy Birthday present.” Tomorrow was my fifth birthday.

As promised “HE” returned the next day at night. This time pulling me on top of “HIM” and moving my hips around. Two times a week “HE” raped me, until I ws twelve years old. After the first few weeks, I began to watch it happen, as if it was a movie before my eyes. I couldn’t feel the pain until the next day, It wasn’t happening to ME! Or so I thought. I would “watch” myself get raped and feel scared for the girl I saw. I wanted God to help her (help me).
“HIM” and Sara told my Mom what “HE” did. She laughed, slapping him on the back. They ALL laughed… The next time, my Mom watched, and told him when he was finished to try me from behind. “HE” looked at her and smiled. “The little bitch deserves it” she taunted “She fucked with me, now she can get fucked too!!!” She began laughing as he raped sadomized me.
“Mommy,” I whimpered “Please Mommy make him stop…”
“Mommy?!” She yelled “Who in the hell gave you a right to call me that?! Do I look like your ‘mommy’?”
“No ma’am.” They all laughed, as he pushed my head down into the carpet and manuvered off of me.
Eventually I forgot “HIS” face. All I can remember is bellow the waist-line I blocked everything about “HIM” out. To this day, I cannot even remember his name.

It’s My Fault

 

It’s my fault Mama

 

Can you ever forgive?

 

Your little girl

 

For all the things she did?

 

For letting him rape me,

 

For being afraid.

 

For ruining your life,

 

And the peace you had made.

 

It’s my fault Mama,

 

I deserve to die.

 

For believing the devil

 

And all of his lies.

 

It’s my fault Mama,

 

For taking that knife.

 

For cutting my wrist

 

When I know it’s not right.

 

It’s my fault Mama.

 

For the things that you do.

 

I cry and I fight.

 

So I know it’s not you.

 

It’s my fault Mama.

 

I shouldn’t have sinned.

 

Let that man hurt me,

 

Over again.

 

It’s my fault Mama.

 

I know I can’t scream.

 

I’m supposed to hide.

 

Never heard–never seen.

 

It’s my fault Mama.

 

You don’t have to yell.

 

I know that God’s reserved

 

A spot in hell.

 

It’s my fault Mama.

 

Can you please understand.

 

That I didn’t know,

 

Couldn’t comprehend.

 

That I was supposed to be silent

 

Supposed to stay still.

 

Mama I’m sorry,

 

That your life’s gone downhill

 

It’s my fault Mama,

 

I now know it’s true,

 

That I should have been good

 

And never fought you.

 

It’s your fault Mama

 

Please let me die.

 

I don’t understand

 

Why Mama–why…

Child’s Eyes

If only the world could see life through a child’s eyes, witnessing the gumdrops and coconut cream icing that supposedly make up the foundations of earth. If only we could feel that presence of happiness through an overactive imagination where we run with the wolves or dance with the leprechauns, sometimes even flying (or at least attempting to). It was those days where we fully understood the meaning of life- to enjoy it. But as we aged, our wisdom grew and the horrors of the world were revealed to us. After such an experience we were never allowed to venture once more into the fascinating fantasy we once knew. Our days grow weary and our hearts grow cold as we live each day witnesses all the wrong that goes on. However, sometimes, we can taste the imaginative life once again and we feel our hearts soar. It is so different from the childhood life, yet it brings us happiness because we are experiencing the things that as a child, we could only imagine. We all once dreamed of being swept off our feet by our knight in shinning armor, galloping into the sunset on the back of a white stallion. A similar thing happens when we meet our true love. They sweep us off our feet, bow down and whisper “will you marry me.” And instead of galloping away on a white horse, we glide down the aisle in a white gown, our eyes locked on our knight in his back and white armor. What we could once only imagined has come to life. I enjoy the creative life much more than the “real world.” Therefore, I have decided to live my life through a child’s eyes and hope one day to be swept off my feet (and a white horse would be nice as well).

Lost and found.

It’s amazing how we live each day, not knowing the pain we cause others or even acknowledging that we could ever do such a thing. I used to be that person, the one who spends each day thinking everyone has wronged them. Yet in thinking this, I began to wrong everyone else. It was my Freshman year in high school that I truly discovered the effect my actions could have. I hurt someone, made them angry and they turned their back. It was a shocker to me, as it God had come down and was shaking me, saying “look Joy, look what your pride can cause.” My pride kept me from apologizing. Now, two years later, I started thinking about that person and how much they deserved an apology. So I searched for them, and for months-nothing. It was just last week when I found them on facebook. Their face sent a chill through me. Why? I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps it was God reminding me of my purpose, the reason I had searched for her. After several minutes, I began penning my apology, hoping to capture the essence of my remorse within my words. And with one simple click of the word “Send,” my conscious was cleared. I doesn’t matter whether or not they accept the truth of my words, all that matters is that I have gained the wisdom to know the pain simple words can have on not only other people, but myself as well.