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amidthedust · 5 years

Text

Alarm; pt2

There are days when it was my fault.

There are days where the sickest parts of me

Tell me I am worse than my rapists.

Nightmares ring in the lowest days, always,

The first lit torch in a line of unlit torches,

There is always an alarm.

There are always signs, before the walls all cave in.

Nights where I wake up and can only breathe,

Nights where I think my breathing is part of the nightmare,

Nights where I wake up more aware than ever

That I am not supposed to be breathing,

Prayer to any God or Goddess or Diety that might still be awake

To tear air from my lungs and light from the room,

Warmth from my body, memories from my skull,

Life from my heart,

Because, fuck,

I am worst than my rapists.

What kind of monster

Turns someone into a rapist?

What kind of monster can

Create demons out of simple honest men

With words and truth alone?

What kind of monster would rather there be

More monsters in the world,

Than keep fire and sulfur and acid in its lungs?

Four is supposed to be a lucky number,

So sometimes I think about that, about how funny it is

That four different people claimed my body against my will,

For 16 years, four by four, shouldnt that be so fucking lucky?

That four different people who never knew about each other

Could all see in me flesh to be claimed and kept and dirtied,

And I tried so hard to be clean, again,

Tried so hard to remove whatever label in my skin

Marked me as for sale, or as free for the taking,

Scrubbed my skin raw,

Tried to bleed the sickness out of me,

Threw up till I saw blood when it didnt fucking work,

But never stopped feeling sick,

Never got the sickness out of me,

Couldnt ever get any of it out of me.

Almost four years after the last time I saw any of them in person,

I still get scared, sometimes.

If 4 of 7 of the close male family members I ever knew

Would claim their right to skin I never thought I'd need to protect from them.

Doesnt it make sense, then, for me to fear the majority?

I get scared on the bus, sometimes,

I cant walk into crowds at the grocery store, sometimes,

I cant grab a fucking onion because a strange man is standing in front of the onions and fuck, the odds arent in his favor,

I wouldnt want him to be turned into an assailant,

Into an attacker,

Into a rapist.

When they teach you rape, if they teach you rape,

They tell you to run, kick, fight, yell, scream, mace, call for help,

Say no,

Get out of the alley way, but,

I have never been molested or raped in a place I wouldnt ever have to go back to.

They dont tell you about the shutting down,

Or how the alarms start sounding like you're under water,

How that turns into feeling like you're under water,

How hard it is to scream, or yell, or fucking say no

When the waters in your throat and you forget how to speak,

When it's your father raping you,

The no should be implied, and you know it is,

Which means no means nothing, wouldnt mean anything but-

More danger, or pain, or threats,

You dont want to make him angry, do you?

You already turned him into a monster, haven't you?-

Which means nobody has taught you what to say

Which means you drown, and you fucking drown,

And you can feel digging, somewhere, and you imagine someday

You'll bury yourself in a swamp, somewhere,

Preserve your body and all of its damaged dirt,

Because you know you, or some important part of you,

Has already died, right?

Will always be trapped, preserved in that moment, anyway, wont it?

Maybe someday, some scientist in some lab

Will find your body,

Will see the mud caught in your throat,

The mud that choked and suffocated and killed and maybe

Theyll break through it, and some scream, or some No,

Will finally get out of you, and maybe

They will cry for you, as hard as you will learn to, someday.

Or maybe theyll break through the mud in your ears and all that will escape is the moment;

The sound of ringing alarms and a whispered

"You know we're gone past that now."

There are days when it is my fault.

There are days when I look in the mirror and see a monster,

See mad scientist,

See a creature who creates rapists in weak men

After all, they are only doing what weak men do, arent they?

There are days when it is my fault,

There are days

When I look in the mirror and see Little Girl.

Little girl is still named Ariel, and hasn't ever liked that, much,

Wont tell you her middle name because shes been trained

To hate her mother enough to hate that part of herself.

But she loves to swim, and loves her brother,

Someday she's gonna go to Penn state, you know.

Someday she's gonna be a forensic scientist, you know.

She really wants to learn how to skateboard, someday.

Shes already been hurt by 3, but 4 is such a lucky number,

Isnt it? I survived 3, but still know 4 was the number that

Finally Fucking killed me.

There are days when Ariel looks up at me and I want to warn her;

I want to tell her to fucking Run.

Run, dont look back, dont trip, dont tell anyone where you're going, dont tell anyone who you are;

There are days where I think

If I could just reach hard enough into the mirror,

I could put my hands around her throat,

And save her,

Like she couldn't save us, back then.

Stop her from creating Rapists of Rapists,

Save her, and save me, and save us,

Save everyone who has ever known us Hurt,

Known us Damaged Goods,

Waste of Time,

Too Much Trouble.

There are days when it is my fault.

Someday, I know, really,

That I'll have to forgive her,

Me.

She was so small, then.

But there are days when the only things I still

Have in common with her are as follows;

I love to swim, I love my brother,

I want to learn to skateboard, someday,

And

The trauma.

Sometimes I wonder if she did die.

If she did save herself, at the expense of dying and leaving me

Behind.

I cannot bring myself to hold that against her.

Someday I hope I can forgive her, me;

My father would still be a rapist if I had never talked about it,

The only difference would be that maybe my brother

Could have forgiven me for leaving, if I never had;

If I'd told him the lies they passed on about drugs and drinking

Were true.

That I was an addict and I ran away to do heroine like my mom.

I hope someday I can forgive myself

For telling the truth,

And creating rapists.

Everyone likes a happy ending,

Logan has always loved superhero stories,

And beating addiction

Sounds better than seeing a rapist in your own father.

There are days when it is my fault.

When it is all my fault, every moment of it,

Every hand on my body, every finger inside me,

Every nightmare and stolen inhale,

Every tear and "I'm sorry" and "dont touch me"

Every unpurchased fucking onion;

It's all my fault.

I still have the shirt I was wearing the first time it was my father.

A tattered greenday shirt, worn, faded, just a t shirt.

Sometimes when I get caught up

Thinking it as his fault that he raped me,

I put it on, and remember silence,

Remember fear, failure, weakness, smallness,

Remember Ariel thinking it wasnt really happening,

Being too afraid of pre established violence to react.

It was my fault, today.

At least,

Today I feel like it was my fault.

But I'm wearing my shirt, and its smaller on me than it was,

Then.

I'm trying to focus in that, instead.

How small she was.

#personal #writing #mine #poetry #tw #twviolence #twsuicide #twtrauma #twabuse

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