Empowering survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse from around the globe, connecting and healing collectively through poetry.


Recent Poems

A single Word

Dub poetry
Spoken word
Beat poetry
Slam poetry

Transformative poetry

Poetry pure poetry
Open heart

dissolves the chains
that once were viewed as unbreakable
invites me to see
that it is me
that is unbreakable

poetry has the power
to overturn those imposed sentences
pain, torment, shame,
all the other shadows that linger
outside our form

to be heard
to be scene
we are the ones
uncovering shrouds

how do I have to be
in order
for you to be free

when words
become poems

doors open
pathways surface
create a choir
heard round the world

So here we are

Weaving quilts
made of words
So strong that they float

Through past
Lighting this very moment

Shining on…
Our future

Author Statement

This poem comes from reading the poems that are finding their way to this site. And, in reading the poems, I find connections with people I have never met, and in those connections lives strength, spirit, the awareness that together we are on a journey of authentic social transformation. What a gift we are all creating together.
With profound gratitude.
Arthur Lockhart
Toronto, Canada

How can I ever forget the two shitty times we spent together?
I did what I was told to do. Why did you make me feel so dirty?

I was told to meet you and I did. Back at your apartment, you made me strip
You took my underwear and you told me to follow you to the bedroom
You told me you liked to be watched as you stripped…slowly
I was scared. All I could think about was my underwear. I only had 3 pairs.
Why did he take them? He is so big. They won’t fit.

Once naked, you wanted me to watch you put on my underwear
You stretched the leg openings, and they didn’t go all the way up
Ungh…Ungh…you made sounds, then to my surprise, you shit in my undies
The whole time, you watched me. I didn’t move. I don’t understand.
Am I doing what he wants?

You took off the undies, dropped the turd in the toilet, and made me put the underwear back on. We got dressed and you gave me a ride home (actually, a block away from home).

I run upstairs and changed and washed in the sink as best as I could.
Bath time was once a week…Sundays. I had to wait until all my siblings were bathed, then I got their same dirty bath water. But I was home, and I felt clean.

Mom found my soiled undies and thought I had an “accident”. She told me that next time, please put the undies in clean water in the toilet to soak. Swish around the undies and do your best to clean them. She did her best to scrub them, but for the next few years I had a permanent pair of slightly coloured undies with a dark secret.

The next time I was told to meet you, I was instantly scared. I had no idea what you were about to do. Back at your place, naked, you decided that you wanted to have some fun:
- Me on my back, raise my legs in the air, then suck my own cock
- You are holding my legs, leaning against my back…watching
- Time passes, then you introduce me to “dirty licking” (I had to lick your dirty smelly bum hole, while you licked mine…I think I was hairless and clean)
- While squatted over me, you told me to open my mouth as big as I could. I could only see your back. Your ass over my mouth. You took a shit
- I panicked. I remember a tear rolling down from my left eye. I was doing what I was told…my mouth was still open. I tried not to breath. It smelled. I coughed and turned my head and threw up.
- You were mad. You pushed my face in your shit and my vomit.
- You told me I was a good boy. For that reason, you shoved your cock in my mouth as a reward. All I taste and smell was shit…then cum. I swallowed because you told me too.

We dressed. You drove me home. I never saw you again.

After 40 years of silence, I am telling my story. I don’t ever want you, or someone like you, to ever touch me or hurt me. After 40 years, I still know your smell, taste, and touch. I don’t think you even remember me…but I can never forget you. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Author Statement

I am in my 13th month on this self discovery journey as a CSA survivor.

Seeing the documentary, Leaving Neverland, gave me the language, courage and voice to no longer keep secrets and to tell my story. I was sexually assaulted in my teens by 50-60 men. They made me call them Daddy, which hides their true identity. Dirty Daddy was one of many men, who haunted me for over 40 years. I seek closure and peace within myself.

I deal with anxiety, depression and dissociation. I attend weekly psychotherapy sessions.

One soul is living
One soul is survivng
We smile together
One of us is crying

They hold our hand
One of us follows
They broke the trust
One of us feels hallow

We trust the lies
One of us hides the truth
We stand together
One stands alone, zero proof

We seek justice
They see a fight
We see them
They seek our light

One soul is living
One soul is surviving
We smile together
One of us is crying

Author Statement

After joining a council of survivors, I took a few moments to represent what it would feel within poetry to express in a way.. what living and surviving may sound like, may read like and may feel like. There is a very definitive difference between living and surviving.

**Trigger Warning**

Never seeing a way out,
Corrupted by the greatest enemy of all;
…the inner me,

"You piece of garbage,
Who do you think you are?
Why would anyone care for your existence?
You low life, you're a failure,

You want to know why people laugh at you?
It's because you're a disgusting piece of garbage,
When you talk, they laugh.
When you cry, they laugh.
When you breathe, they laugh.
If you just open your mouth, they bawl out with laughter.

Just end yourself already,
Go grab the razor blade,
Go grab the bottle of pills,
Go grab the garbage bag,
Go grab the bleach,
Go get that string from your robe,
I wish you were dead already,

No one will hear you except me,
I promise you are safe,
Safe with me,
Remember this, no one cares about you,
So, there really is no point to living,
Kill yourself. End it. Stop it."

help me, my mind has taken over, and i cannot control it any longer,
am i really the creator of these thoughts? it cannot be so…

"But it is so, stop trying to blame another soul, you pile of dust"


"Yeah? Peace? Who do you think you are?
You won't ever get peace. You deserve to suffer you piece of garbage."

God? Lord? Source? Universe? Are you out there?
Oh…Please be there Lord, stay with me,
I don't think I will ever have eternal peace.
(with a sigh) "Yeah, I'll never have eternal peace..."

I am going to suffer forever,
My soul will suffer forever,
Please Lord, I did NOTHING wrong,
I was just a little kid,
A small, young, innocent little kid,

Who was supposed to receive LOVE, instead receiving a great deal of FEAR,
Though her true essence has always been of LOVE,

She loved those close to her, but they turned against her,
She loved Life, but Life remained a closed door,
She loved her grandma so dearly, but grandma was never known,
She loved her dad, but dad was never there,

That’s when it all started…
The destruction of MY mind, body, heart, and soul,
She doesn’t understand why or how, but that it started,

For the past decade or more,
It's been ME and A GREAT DEAL OF DENIAL...
And after 21 years of being alive, I have finally been set free by the Truth,
By the Grace of God, My Lord, My Savior,

Let me share with you,
Share that the inner me, that wounded inner child,
Has now become my ally whom I will protect forever,
Because WE know it came from the others, not the self,
Thank You Lord, The Truth is setting me free.

Author Statement

I never expected to live on. I thought I would be dead. Never knowing that my upbringing was fucking toxic and abusive. That no one ever cared, and genuinely hated me for being...I still don't know at this point. Then having been diagnosed with mental illnesses just allowed me to believe even more that I was the fuck up. That it was all me. That all those negative thoughts came from me. I was the creator of it. Of those self destructing, evil thoughts. That I now KNOW AND UNDERSTAND STEM FROM THE ABUSERS who are SADLY the very individuals that brought, and 'raised' me into this world. 'FAMILY.'

You took my hand
Led me to your imprisoned bed
Me, giving up my safety, laden
In heaviness, I present my oneness
Which was hidden, guarded
You stroke my face, that ugliness, uncaring piece
A spoonful of unique crimson
My eyes shrouded by silk
The painful release of waters, built up
The key under your tongue, spit
I am cuffed, numb
My legs opened
Your lids flutter, a release
The metal cuts me, inside sickened
I feel weight, disconnected
No kiss, disrespecting body
My breathing, expanse
Cotton in my mouth
A broken wheel in awe
The mothered unwanted son held on
To a crippled sky

Author Statement

I was sexually tortured by my boyfriend and this is my coming to terms with my Pain. I have done a lot of work in therapy but writing poetry is a way to get it out of me and put it away, to never look at it again. It’s a place to render the cutting, the trauma, the formation of a new me, free from one who took from me, where I find my soul again.

The turbulence of these waves
could drown you out at sea;
swimming in saltwater with open wounds is bound to make you scream

This heart,
these hands,
this brain,
they're heavy

This body is tired of fighting a current and never drowning.

So stay strong
even when you feel all alone

Keep moving on;
the monsters that once had their claws in your back -
they're gone

No one's going to help you,
even if they'd want to.
There are things that, they will never know

So baby girl keep changing
Keep rearranging
all the thoughts that, you think you know

Just go slow
Just go slow

Author Statement

This poem was created while I was crying and trying to make something meaningful on my guitar. The words became a slow and melancholy song, through muffles of hopelessness, sobbing and exhaustion. I was deep in my battle of post-traumatic stress and this night was one of the darkest and most alone moments that I’ve experienced yet. I was landing in the reality that no one would be able to fully be able to understand my experience because I was the only one that experienced it; I was the only one there other than my perpetrator. In my mind, at the time, even the most well intentioned-folks (which there were few) wouldn’t be able to “save” me; this was very scary because I felt so alone, and I wanted, desperately, to be seen and helped and saved by anybody. It was a terrifying time to me.

Looking back now, this poem represents one of the first times that I tapped into my own strength and resilience. It felt like I was making a decision out of hopelessness and betrayal, it was deeply deeply painful… and, though I didn’t know it yet, it also was the turning point for me. I was choosing to believe in something that I didn’t know to be real or true or possible – healing, my own inner-strength, the possibility of a “good” life…

It’s taken years and there have been triggers, painful flashbacks, deep and difficult transformation, but ultimately, all great learnings towards healing and post-traumatic growth. I am proudly in a healthy relationship now, with a partner who hears me and respects me; someone who I can communicate my boundaries with and who advocates for me even when I’m not there. I have learned how to create safety for myself and have been working hard to learn how to let go of unhelpful coping mechanisms (such as people pleasing and co-dependency), in order to show up authentically in all my relationships, aligned in my truth and in touch with myself and my body’s boundaries. The journey has been hard; I’ve lost a lot of people along the way, and battled up and down with mental illness. But I am so proud of myself for how far I’ve come, for who I am now, and for the young woman who wrote this poem in her darkest times, unknowing it would become her prayer to get her through to the end <3

Beloved friend, fellow survivor,
I thought I heard you say,
“My innocence is forever lost.”
Look again, look deeply, I say.

Beyond existence and non-existence.
Beyond birth and beyond death,
Thus is your nature.
Look again, look deeply, I say.

Taking refuge in Great Compassion,
Transform pain into joy,
Awaken gladness in your heart.
Look again, look deeply, I say.

Close your eyes and look inward,
Into the depths of consciousness.
There you find a sweet child.
Say to her, “Darling, I am here for you.”

Open you heart to this child,
Allow great compassion to arise,
Offer the incense of tranquility.
Say to her, “Darling, I see your suffering.”

Say to her with tenderness,
“Sweet child, little me,
A cloud never dies.
Innocence is your nature.”

The insight is strong,
Be brave and be bold.
And thus the wisdom lotus blossoms,
In the thick, stagnant mud.

Darling, I am here for you.
Beloved, I see you.
Fellow survivor, nothing is lost.
We are blessed innocence.

Stigma will no longer sew my lips shut, it cannot.

Stigma will no longer shame me into a shell, it cannot.

Stigma is the toxin that runs through society, but no longer through me. It cannot.

Stigma is the faceless fear that tried to force me into inaction. But now, it cannot.

Stigma helped my perpetrator get away with his crime, but now, it cannot.

Stigma helped complicit institutions cover up abuse, but now, it cannot.

Stigma is being disrupted and dismantled, and it will no longer prevent the truth.

Stigma is being unmasked and uncovered, and it will no longer trap any youth.

Stigma is a relic of the past, showing the greatest contrast.

For now, the darkness cannot live here, only truth and light.

the same way
i count my thoughts
in shapes
& constellations
strung together
one too many times.

Author Statement

I have a continuous passion for narrative storytelling using mixed media to showcase my creative talents. I’m naturally inclined towards writing in various forms; poetry, memoir, short fiction, documentaries, and journaling. Find my portfolio here – https://

Like an alchemist, Goldstein transforms writing and design into creative communication that inspires her viewers. Goldstein publishes work connecting nature to lineage as she paints pictures with her words.

The Gatehouse