Empowering survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse from around the globe, connecting and healing collectively through poetry.
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Recent Poems
Still Prey
What’s this?
An email from my father?
He must have died then.
Has the day finally arrived?
Is he...dead?
Cunning 'ham.
STOP! THINK!
Dead men don’t email.
I had given it to him.
Years ago
What else could I do?
It shouldn’t be like this.
I shouldn’t have to.
Do I open it?
What does he want?
I’m hooked, flapping around,
Gasping for breath like a fish flayed.
Can’t you just forgive him before he dies?
We mustn’t speak ill of the dead.
Let it go, just move on.
It's all in the past.
I have that right, at least.
Don’t I?
To know when my rapist daddy dies.
My ancestors suck their teeth.
As I click open the email.
He’s not dead or dying.
He’s found God and weaponises forgiveness.
Him.
The predator.
Me.
His prey
B Meadow | United Kingdom
I wrote this in response to my three time convicted pedophile father sending me emails alluding to his imminent death, only to realise that I was yet again being manipulated and toyed with. He wasn’t dying.
I contacted the police to report malicious communication and harassment. An offender isn’t allowed to contact his victim. The police put me at further risk by giving him my new name I had recently changed by deed poll and my location. When your abuser is a family member, especially a parent, the re-traumatisation continues long after the actual abuse stops.
I hope this changes when he finally dies.
Provocation
Child molester, arrested.
Pleads guilty, gets two years on probation.
Years later, caught again.
Another plea bargain, segregated unit, daily group therapy, TV in cell.
Ten years, out in five.
Third conviction, short sentence, released.
What madness is this?
Five decades of violating women and children.
Ex-wife and victims suicided.
Maybe more?
Perp lives comfortably in the suburbs.
Daughter is the same age as the dead mother now.
She could kill him.
Charged with murder, if she uses a weapon
Manslaughter with diminished responsibility, maybe
Ten years max, out in five; it’s worth it.
Less if she kills him with her bare hands
Less again if she calls an ambulance.
Provocation is her defense.
Failed by the system, the psych report might say.
Driven by intolerable grief and menopausal rage.
A favorable jury might acquit her.
Victims taking matters into their own hands?
Women fighting back?
We must make an example of her.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Silence is a form of compliance.
Truth is, I’m no killer.
Clinging obediently to a broken system
My weakness repulses me.
Stop the torment.
It’s either him or me.
He wins again.
They always do
B Meadow | United Kingdom
I decided not to kill him or me, although for a while that seemed to be my only options.
Instead I spent a fortune on therapy and worked with a journalist to ‘out’ him in the local press, hoping that new victims would come forward and press charges. Dangerous, high-risk sex offenders, like my father belong in prison, not in the community.
My article was published last week. How will know if it has any impact? I probably won’t, but doing something is better than doing time or doing nothing.
Little Vampire
I am a good girl.
I’ll do whatever he says.
Any attention is better than none.
He knew that, didn't he?
Do I want to hold it while he pisses?
As if asking gives me a choice.
Of course, I’ll say yes.
I’m a good girl; please love me.
Is that how he elicits compliance and silence?
Was I so easy?
Or did he make threats?
Daddy smell, big cock, cut
Flannel nightie, hold your breath, and pretend to sleep.
Soul-murdered and vampire-bitten.
Precocious, they called me;
attention-seeking provocateur, little love sucker.
What monstrous evil,
a baby succubus, eternally damned.
Daddy’s little whore.
B Meadow | United Kingdom
I was researching Hypersexuality Disorder and realised that my compulsive sexual behaviours were a direct result from very early incest. Life long psychological damage, is when your brain tells you to be sexual, not because you want to be but because your brain tells you to be. My brain got wired to make connections and attachments through being sexual. It was never a choice. Thankfully menopause rewired my brain again, and viewing the world through a sexual lens seems to have gone. I can now focus on other things.
Given the prevelance of CSA, I ask myself who benefits from a society of hypersexualised women, desperately needing male validation?