This poem deals with the subject of rape and sexual assault. Although sexual acts are not depicted the subject matter may be triggering from those who have experienced any sexual trauma.
It always starts with a rainy night, what a coincidence it is that tonight is pouring.
The universe is crying for me, with me.
The thunder is screaming out my heartache whereas I myself cannot.
The winds are howling my fear as fierce as my heartbeat.
The heartbeat I try to quieten for if it betrays me, I’m dead.
But wouldn’t death be the better option? better than living like this?
But what if it isn’t.
What if in death there’s just more heartache, but without a sky to cry with you or thunder to scream for you.
Isn’t that infinitely worse? I think it is.
It isn’t…is it?
It cant be.
I cant live with this.
I cant die like this.
Maybe after everything I’m even more terrified at the thought of being alone.
So I try to draw in my fear and still my treacherous heart.
The same heart that up until this morning held hope deep in its depths. Hopes that I wouldn’t always have to suffer at the hands off you. Hopes that one day I can look at rain and think those tears of joy for my survival, our survival.
There are others…newer one’s, lost one’s with fresh hope, Hopes of rescue.
The wind blows stronger, I can hear them.
But I know, I know it well…you got to be your own hero until you cant,until your rebellious spark dies, until your fight drains.
I only wished they knew.
It would have been able to save them from a scar or two.
Maybe I can save them. But I cant…can I?
Maybe its good my hope is gone.
Because my conscience went with it, my sanity.
I hear footsteps , the same footsteps I hear everyday, on good days only once.
I hear footsteps, its fast approaching.
The rain beats down harder.
I dry my eyes, I no longer have hope in me or fight. But I dry my eyes because it gives you joy to have a broken begging woman. I’m broken but I wont beg ,not anymore…not again.
I let myself be dragged to you, how foolish you are in all that self importance and ignorance.
How confident you are that we are docile whimpering women.
We are…I am.
The winds howl mercilessly
But fear be damned, sanity be damned.
Heaven be damned.
Lightning flashes across the sky, thunder boom in its wake -once, twice. Lightning strikes for the second time tonight
Shattered glass, a body bleeding out on the rug. Blood on my hands…Its vile, rancid blood.
Rancid from all the cries of us.
Its not me, I’m not…I couldn’t. I’m docile … I’m helpless.
I cant possibly.
I want to go to heaven.
I don’t want to suffer alone.
Alive or dead.
I don’t want to suffer alone.
But you aren’t moving, not anymore and I’m the only one here.
It must be me.
I saved the new ones…the lost ones ,the ones with fresh hope. Hopes of rescue.
They will go to heaven, not now…later.
But they will go and they will go without scars.
I did that…For them.
Its pouring tonight but its no longer thundering, no hint of lightning.
For the first time in the longest time I let the tears that the universe cries for me wash off the blood of a monster.
I let the winds chase away its scent.
And I pray with all my shattered pieces for heaven.
A Word From the Author
My inspiration for this is our current world wide predicament of gender based violence and rape .Regards
A Word on Sexual Assault From Our Host
Sexual assault is a world wide problem effecting:
- Children and Adolescents
- The LGBTQ Community
- All races, religions and in every community.
Learn more about what you can do to prevent sexual assault and gain tips on how to talk to your kids about staying safe through the provided links
If you are a victim of sexual assault or any form of domestic violence there is help. Please see the provided links for ways to report and support services available
You do not have to go through this alone, justice is available.
Report Sexual Assault
Report Domestic Violence
About the Author
I believe my passion for writing stems from my obsession with reading . I’ve been reading since I was seven! For the pure joy of it . I loved being called a nerd even at that young age I knew it made me different and I liked being different . For years I’ve commended writers for their talent and skills , it enthralled me that a single person could create such wonder with words . I honestly didn’t believe I had what it takes to be a writer.
Now many years later from being that proud seven year old nerd I took my chances at writing .
Its been about 3 years now that I’ve been struggling with life as a whole and I needed and outlet . I needed motivation.
I used to write my own motivation on what ever piece of paper I could find at the time. My words came out with more of a poetic fantasy feel to it and when I’d finish I would sit back and wonder at which part of my heart did that pour out of . It made me happy so I continued.
Since than it has evolved somewhat I still don’t think I have what a takes to create a world as an author would but I feel I’m pretty good at enhancing this world as a poet .