survivor

The Two And You

The two sit as one naked and small

One slight shadow cast large on the wall.

Holding her breath squeezing eyes tight,

Thinking “away” with all of her might.

Body stays but Spirit soars

To the top of the room over window and doors.

Spirit looks down at Body below

Thankful she’s separate, relieved to know

That she cannot feel what Body goes through,

Spirit is safe from the likes of you.

Spirit watches as you do horrid things.

With complete disregard for the pain that you bring.

Spirit looks on, hovering close by

Aghast at your actions - wondering, why?

Spirit is angry, Spirit is sad,

Spirit knows what is happening is bad.

The poking the pinching the penetrating

Leaves Body numb, leaves Spirit waiting

Waiting for you to take your leave,

Longing for Body to get a reprieve.

When that time comes and Body lies trembling

Spirit drifts down softly descending

Gently gently careful and tender

Spirit meets Body and hastens to mend her.

From her strawberry hair to her ten tiny toes

Body is filled with Spirit, who flows

Down and around, inside and out

Comforting, strengthening, leaving no doubt

That Body and Spirit together as one

Will keep silent and secret the things you have done.

Sad

I am so incredibly sad today.

It’s just that sort of sadness -

That-hurtful-fear,

Can’t-hold-back-the-tears,

Hope-nobody-sees-me,

Crying-so-I-can’t-see,

Feeling-awfully-silly,

Trembling-and-chilly,

Like-a-weeping-willow,

Head-under-my-pillow,

Can’t-get-past-this-sorrow,

No-hope-for-tomorrow

Sort of sadness.

Little Memory

Thirty-one years old, I’m grown, I should be fine

Yet an urgent little memory keeps haunting me.

A hurting little spirit, a shamed and guilty child

Keeps tugging at my shirt sleeve all the while.

That little one, she never gives in, she won’t let me be.

She wants me to protect her like no one has before.

I’m not up for this, not strong enough to be her champion.

Can’t she see that I need a champion of my own?

This little memory insists that I remember - what?

A thought, a smell, a word - I dare not consider it familiar

Or wonder or search my mind to uncover its meaning,

Why it upsets me, causes me such pain, nauseates me.

I don’t know you little one, so please please let me be.

You will find no love, no compassion here.

I have none to spare.

I chase you away again and again to no avail it seems.

Annoying though you may be, there’s something about you;

I feel irresistibly drawn to your innocence, your smallness

And I know my attempts to ignore you are futile.

You are strong, little memory.

You won’t give in until you’ve told me all about you

Your fears, your pain, your true identity.

So if you must, tell me of these things.

I will try to be a good listener, I will try to be patient.

Since I have agreed to learn about you,

I would ask that you also be patient with me.

You see little one, I’m very much like you.

I brag of independence as I clutch onto others’ hands,

Yet I never allow myself to trust anyone fully.

Anger, fear and guilt fill my heart when I feel conflict.

A student? A writer? Forever a follower, never a fighter?

Did I mention I need a champion, too?

Did you know that I had a traumatic childhood?

That I was abused, violated, shamed, frightened into silence?

Sometimes I too tugged at shirt sleeves

But my attempts at finding protection went unnoticed.

I was small and in pain, fear and self-loathing grew with me.

I wish I had your strength, little memory.

Perhaps you can help me to be strong.

You and I are so much alike -

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if you stick around.

Why are you crying little memory? - or is it me?

Just come to me when you need to cry, I will protect you.

We will cry together.

Perhaps we have already.

I will be your champion, and you will be my strength.

Reflections

Little one, eyes bright, skin fair,

Small face surrounded by sunlit hair

Jostled, whispering softly across her cheek.

At the edge, bare feet, toes immersed.

She ponders her reflection in the still clear water.

The calm is soothing, the child is content.

There’s a hint of gladness, not quite a smile.

She rocks side to side as she day dreams awhile

A soft gentle breeze carresses her face.

It is peaceful. It is quiet.

The child takes in all this splendor

Tucking each moment away to remember

In a safe place.

Engraved, available as a future sweet memory.

A reflection of a lost childhood.

She must keep these moments apart from the rest,

Separate these wonders, keep them, hold them dear

For she knows too well how precious they are…

The water, the breeze, the calm the contentment.

For too often she sees past the reflection;

Behind the hint of gladness that’s not quite a smile

Are the bad things… the secrets, the shame, the hurt.

At the pond, for the moment, she is but a child

Not a bad child, not a shameful child, not a guilty child.

Merely a six year old, innocence itself.

The little face in the pond sighs,

Then explodes, distorts, disappears from her eyes.

In an instant the reflection is a memory

Created by a little girl’s tear.

Poetry by Karen Ann Young

All Material Copyright©2009 KAYz Kreationz

For the first eight years of my life I was abused at the hands of my oldest sister NJ. Sister/sister abuse is the least studied group of victims and offenders, though the incidence of this type of sibling incest no doubt occurs more often then is actually reported.

With the expert guidance and support of a wonderful therapist and an equally splendid and caring physician I've faced and fought what has been undoubtedly the most fierce battle of my life.

Throughout my journey in coming to terms with the traumatic events of my early childhood I've found writing to be cathartic and healing. I'm sharing my poetry on this page and dedicating these words to every adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse... and to every child currently in the midst of such horror.