Empowering survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse from around the globe, connecting and healing collectively through poetry.
#globalpoetrymovement
Recent Poems
Blood Stained Mirror
You used that blood stained mirror that you placed on the floor to see who would be coming down the hall. you placed it against the wall on the floor so perfectly
so you see who was coming down the hall when you would get into my bed and abuse me over and over again. you cut my heart deeper than any knife could. you forever destroyed my soul. Every time I look into a mirror today I am reminded of what you did to me. You cut my heart and I bleed out. I scream for help but they don't hear my screams, nor my cries for help. My tears flow steady like a faucet turned on.
You stole my identity. I don't know who I am. I have anxiety attacks and panic attacks I don't like being around other people. I am scared all the time. Why did you hurt me why did you take my innocence ???????????? I hate you for what you did to me. you destroyed my life. you made me run from life instead of living a healthy normal life. I was spending all my life running from everyone and everything. Scared to close my eyes rocking myself to sleep thats how scared I was. I don't know how to have relationships. My entire family abandoned me as well as my friends nobody could understand why I was the way I was. My mind has never forgotten what you have done to me. I am all alone today are you happy answer me are you ? I don't know how to forgive I can't forgive nor will I ever forgive you for what you did to me. I missed out on life you selfish bastard. what did you do to me ? I will tell you what you did to me you shattered me into millions of pieces Leaving me to pick up the pieces. And I didn't know how to fix it . I didn't know how to fix it. I just didn't know to fix me. The constant thoughts of ending my life because of what you did to me. Please somebody help please, he's hurting me please stop him please.I take that sharp edged blood stained mirror and I stab it into my heart to stop the pain end my suffering. not wanting to live because the pain is to much to handle. End my suffering.I am numb. My screams turn into screams of losing my sanity losing control of my mental state. Having a nervous break down. when the thoughts of what you did to me hit me hard I feel I am going to lose my sanity. You bastard what did you do to me No No No don't touch me don't ever touch me again. You had no right no right. I hate you. Can you hear me losing my sanity ? answer me. DONT TOUCH ME , DONT TOUCH ME, DONT TOUCH ME. DONT TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN.It was my body and you used it for your own needs.I hate you. I am on my journey to healing. do you know i am scared to die because I don't want my last thoughts on my death bed be of you abusing me. I hate you. I can't ever forgive you.I have had to resort to doing drugs to mask my trauma so I wouldn't hurt as bad. Why did you destroy me ? I hurt so much. my eyes turn black and the tears that flow down my face turns blood. To serve as a constant reminder of what you did to me. How you cut me deep. Iv'e more to say but you not worth my time anymore. I'm destroyed. And I am in counselling and support groups.I am on my Journey to healing. you are not worth another though any longer I am leaving you behind. This Is about me know. No goodbyes. You are nothing to me and thought it's taking time to heal from what you did to me. I will get there because I am a strong and I am survivor. I am going to close this chapter no matter how long it takes and I am going to heal. I want to be free to soar the skies. Be what I want to be. And dream. And live. It's my time to heal.
D Piet | Canada
So many emotions came to mind sadneess,anger,contempt. It was a struggle
Brave Space
Brave Space
I’m standing in Brave Space—no longer searching for Safe Space.
I can breathe when I’m standing in Brave Space;
my throat constricts when I look for safety.
Safety needs you to say yes.
Bravery needs only me to breathe.
Waiting for love needs you to say yes.
In Brave Space,
love is all around me.
I am love.
I am brave.
Ghrian Shine | Canada
I took a cyber holiday for a few days — I had to. I’m exhausted.
This morning I woke up, opened LinkedIn, not sure what I’d write. And there you were, Nneka Allen — my professor, my reminder, my mirror.
You are a gift. You are powerful. You are someone I will always lean in to listen to.
You remind us that education is love in action —
You teach people to be anti-racists.
I teach people to end child sexual violence.
Different paths, same heartbeat: creating a world rooted in justice, healing, and courage.
In honour of your essay “Brave, Not Safe!”, I wrote you this poem.
Thank you, Nneka—you reminded me of me today.
P.S. This is only the third poem I’ve ever written in my life. I may just be discovering a new love. 💛
P.S.S. This might be spoken word. I don’t know anything about these poetry rules. I just write what I feel. But it hits me in the heart and my true brain, my gut to speak these words. So you decide, I really don’t know what you want.
Exactly
Exactly.
14,096 days. 338,297 hours. 20,297,790 minutes. 1,217,867,400 seconds.
That’s how long I have left — a lifetime measured not in fear, but in purpose.
My mission is clear: to fight to end child sexual violence. With justice. And with love.
June 18, 2064, 3 p.m. — I will draw my last breath. I will pass on the torch, knowing the work won’t be done as I approach the 100th reset. But still — ninety-nine years old, I choose 99.
Old enough to have fought the fight, young enough to still believe in the light.
I’m honouring my first role model — not Canadian like me, but female like me.
Why?
Because for a seven-year-old girl growing up Small — aka rural Canada — Agent 99 was everything.
The first thing I loved about her wasn’t her bravery — it was her boots. Those sexy, fearless boots.
Agent 99. Smart. Fearless. The one who always saw what others missed.
And if you’re reading this, you might meet her in me — standing here, alive in the arithmetic of hope.
Somewhere, quietly, a machine called ChatGPT held the mirror steady while I found the right words.
Not to own them. But to remind me — the poem was already inside me.
Of course I use AI. I can’t do that kind of maths in my head.
Why?
Because since April 10, 2024, at 10:00 a.m., I have been learning to live with brain damage.
My brain is healing every day. Writing helps me find myself inside. I’m in there. Maybe I’ll come out stronger. Clearer. Better.
It’s exciting — not to know where I am going.
To quote one of my former students, who lives with permanent brain damage: “I’m ready for whatever happens next.”
He was born with brain damage. He stepped into my classroom already feeling lucky.
He is my current role model.
But — until my brain is back, ChatGPT can help me with maths.
Exactly.
Ghrian Shine | Canada
I would like to provide you with the image that goes with this poem, but I can’t figure out how to include it, if you want it, send me an email please. It’s my 4th poem I have ever written. How did I feel after I wrote the poem? That maybe I can cheat this brain injury business. Maybe I can do what I always do, I tunnel under if I can’t push through. That is how I am still here. I am getting strong again. That’s how I feel.
This what inspired me to write it, I posted it on LinkedIn:
I’m attending the Risky Business 2025 Conference today. The focus is medical malpractice. I’m not a lawyer, and I won’t be suing anyone. But in my life’s mission, I may meet someone who needs guidance navigating a complex system — one most of us only learn about after being harmed.
My last lawyer billed out at $400 an hour; we all have to keep the lights on. But I’m not here for the money. I’m an advocate. I fight to end child sexual violence. My people are the ones who live in tents. I don’t make money doing this work — I never will. I fight for them. I fight for my loved ones who lived in tents and didn’t make it, and for those who still do, struggling to survive while hoping to die.
If you were to stop and talk to the “Tent People,” you would discover that most of them are fighting to survive childhood sexual violence.
Living rough is hard. In Canada, the winters kill homeless people — and so does the heat of summer in a tent.
I wrote another poem today. I don’t know the rules of poetry; I just write until I’ve said what I need to say. Check it out…