Visits To Hell
In the dark of the night I start to sweat
Tossing and turning, hiding from the nightmares I just met
I try to remember that this is no longer real
But in the deep of the nightmare I begin to feel.
His hands grab at me, the smoke on his breath
The strangled cry in my throat, this must be my death.
The squeak of the rubber as he prepares to take
My young, terrified body. My soul he will break.
The sound of his breath, panting, filling his need
The silent sobs I can’t choke out, as he empties his seed.
My body trembles with fear; I have no voice to shout
It’s not like my mother would even hear, I’m the one she’d doubt
Now that he’s done, he rolls off the bed
And leaves the room with no words to be said.
I run to the bathroom, my soul shattered and broken
The marks from his hands are left as his token.
As the dream starts to fade, I awake in my bed
Shivering and crying for the part of me he left dead.
I’ll never be complete, there’s no way I can be whole
But, I’ve learned to live without that sacred part of my soul.
In light of the Me Too movement, here’s my own outlet. I don’t share my story in full detail, I can’t. It’s too much. But, #MeToo