Flowers shrouding me
I buried my own
sending myself down a river
the Ganges in India
Like a mummy
floating on a paddleboat
flowers shrouding me
Commentary by Mondkind:
I was abused as a young adolescent by my father's friend. I will call him Y. Y raped me after school, when I went home to play with Y's daughter, a friend of mine. My friend was also being abused continually by her father at home. One night, at a sleepover with my friend, she was dragged out of the room by her father to be abused. I was left in my friend's room trembling. I felt terrible not going after my friend to save her from the abuse, but I also felt very numb. I couldn't move, I didn't have the energy. In some ways, I was glad not to be the one being abused this time. My friend came back after it had happened. She was very angry and distressed. I drew this picture for both of us. The abuse made us feel dead inside. I wished us a peaceful place to rest.
There is brutal, almost naked frankness in your poem. And incredible courage to share with others.
Thank you. I have been processing these kind of memories for a few years now and it felt like the right time to share them. I hope it can help bring awareness to the issue of child abuse and maybe help others not feel alone with what they went through.
Welcome. Literature can be good way of channeling traumatic experiences. And your is good piece of poem, indeed.
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