All Poems | Global Poetry Movement

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 in The Voice for Others

Author Statement

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 in The Voice for Others

Author Statement

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 in The Voice for Others

Author Statement

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?

Connecting Us Together

You waited so patiently for me to come and find you.
Truthfully, I ignored you because it hurt too much to feel the pain.
The weight of everything was so heavy.
I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to keep moving forward.
Years later, I found you. Exactly where I left you.
You hid in plain sight, but no one noticed you.
When I saw you from shore, I knew it was you. You recognized me too.
All those years of lifeguard training paid off.
You were always trying to survive.
You knew I’d eventually come back so you just kept treading water.
You smart, wise, strong girl. You figured out how to save yourself.
When our eyes connected you stopped treading.
Then - you stood up and walked towards me. Towards the shore.
The whole time, while you were waiting, you knew you could stand, but you continued to tread water.
You wanted to wait. You waited for me to find you. Right where I left you.
She said, “What took you so long?
She came and wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big, long hug.
She pulled me close and whispered slowly,
“It has taken us a very long time to get this right so listen closely.
I’m ok now. You did the work you needed to do. You are very brave.
I celebrate you every day because you came back. You found me.
I’m standing because of you.
You rewrote our story.
Now go and live”.
And with that she was gone. Leaving behind only her true self.

R. A. Shantz in Personal Transformation

Author Statement

I think I have been writing this poem for years now, but it was only in doing work on my Inner Child that I finally connected with my inner child and hear what she had to say. She was right where I had left her, waiting for me to do the work that I needed to do to heal myself and she knew, when I was ready, I would come back and find her. Funny enough, when I found her, she was so happy to see me and it was that young child, who celebrated me, acknowledged the work I had done and gave me the encouragement to go and live.

Only I Can Carry

Only I can carry my cross into the light.
If I falter in the dark, I will strive to carry the weight.
Even a rocky path without my faith, a cross went before me.
The light will be stronger than the weight of my cross.

Even this heavy heart to love again, has hope to bear.
To stay true in faith, love helps to carry the way.
The suffering of an empty past, today will bring light.
Only I can bring this light to someone else.

Only I can ask who will help me start to pray for hope.
When I falter, it is I to await the path before me.
The path will only get brighter and the cross will be lighter.
If I dedicate my life to others, I will carry this light.
Only I, can carry.

T. Welch in Obstacles to Overcome

Author Statement

This poem is dedicated to my dad. I thought of it after my daughter’s birthday one year, thinking back to the nightmare my childhood was for all of us at home, because of my dad. The poem is about the road that I wished for my dad, but that he didn’t take. It is the road that I DID take, and for my daughter I am thankful.

A Twig In The Forest

Original—A Twig in the Forest
01.10.2023

I am walking through a forest
It is not your typical forest

It is dark and gloomy
Words once said before

I look up, and tall trunks surround my twig body
I am picked up by a branch, then whipped to another
Back and forth I go
No control in reaching for the ground

My eyes are closed
Mouth is shut tight

I do not know what else to do but remain
F R O Z EN
Everything is happening too fast

In a blink of an eye
I am an adult

With no choice
But to walk through the forest all over again

This time
I bring light to it

This time
I shed the fog

Now
I see clearly

—the end

s.renita in Obstacles to Overcome

Borrowed Moods

Each day I startle awake, my days undefined,
I’m a prisoner to forces beyond my own mind.

Is my mother angry? Is that today’s norm?
Or is she serene? Will she keep me warm?

Did I receive that text? The one I waited for so long?
Or was I again left waiting, maybe my own judgement was wrong.

The skies decide wether I smile or frown,
gloomy clouds weigh heavy, dragging me down.

Sunshine can lift me but only so high,
light does not shine where my sorrows lie.

My most loved grow weary of the sadness they see,
I wish they could understand how tiring it is to be me.

I wish they could know how much it really takes,
to live in this whirlwind of highs and heartaches.

Their patience wears thin but I’m always aware,
I really try to be happy, I do, I swear.

My feelings are so random, I’m playing a losing game,
but I grow tired of myself so who can I blame?

For them, grief is a passing, a brief rain, a light shower,
but for me, it’s a lifetime of suffering- every minute of every hour.

G. K. Dhaliwal in The Experience of Pain

Author Statement

I’ve loved poetry for a long time before I attempted writing it. I use it as a form of therapy. Whenever I can’t express my feelings through words, music, or sitting with it- I write. It forces me to think about my emotions and process them as I’m working on something. By the time I’m done writing a poem, I’ve let out all my feelings and felt them out as I form sentences that flow together. Not to mention I’m left with something I created and something I’m happy with. After I wrote this poem I let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to once again release my thoughts on paper.

Poison

Come join me,
In the dark.
I’ll make room for you,
Wake up your body,
Open your heart.
I’ll swallow your pain,
The poison I deserve.
It can’t kill me,
I am already dead.

S. Kohlman in The Voice for Others

Author Statement

It can be a struggle to have healthy relationships after CSA. At the time I was feeling responsible for the difficulties and felt hopeless and alone in the darkness.

Tired

I’m tired.
Leave me by the hospital doors,
No looking back.
Avoid my eyes,
Don’t hear my pain.

No more need to measure my worth with your measuring cups.
Give back my love before you go,
Should I try to build it again.

I’m tired,
My Dragon Lady, burning it all down.
Nowhere to anchor
So much haze

She’s so small,
She doesn’t know where to go, what to do.
Wishes she didn’t survive
This life not worth living

She can’t feel with half a heart,
Or navigate your rules.
Don’t take the chance,
She’s not safe for you.

Cover her eyes
Shut her mouth
Plug your ears
She can’t run with numb legs
Her cries won’t stop
Leave it all at the hospital doors

Save yourself
Wash your hands
Take your broken heart.

S. Kohlman in The Voice for Others

Author Statement

Navigating adult love relationships as a survivor is tricky when we don’t have the tools or understanding. Our behaviors can be hurtful to our families when we are fiercely protecting our little ones from feeling in unhelpful ways that are no longer serving us. I wrote this during a dark place where I didn’t have the skills to navigate my relationship in a healthy way.