When the day breaks, I nearly forget who I am.
Air is tight. My skin, heavy.
This face I wear, is not my own.
So why is it attached to my body?
What is this body…?
I go along with my day.
I know, the fog of the past will reach the ground in time.
Face to face I will be, with reclaiming what is mine.
I may have never actually known myself, my face, or my body.
How could I,
When I was nothing more than one of your possessions?
All of me belonged to you.
Down to my every thought, every emotion.
You were the very thing that fueled my every action,
I’m headed home, now.
Such a long time running.
I’m worn down.
Do you remember who I am?
Do you ever think about what you did to me?
I saw your face in the nonexistent shadow of pitch black night.
I ran away from your memory, in the light of mid-day.
It was obvious to me, my strength was fading.
Pin me down beneath your cruel, somber, expanding flesh-
For only one more day.
I saw the clear of the moon’s reflection.
I don’t need, not another second.
Take myself back to that day. First grade.
I decided I didn’t want to look pretty, anymore.
No more dog print dresses, shiny black buckled shoes, or French braids
Just sweat pants and sneakers,
I won’t even brush my hair,
I’ll play in dirt and I won’t shower,
You would leave me alone, but you didn’t.
No matter how hard I tried.
Refusing to be dolled up- Pig tails and mom’s perfume.
You just wouldn’t.
And now that song you used to sing, each night as it was time for bed.
Put me fast to sleep, so you could begin touching me.
It rings in my head, like some sort of Buddhist chant.
Like the universal “hum” of the earth rotating.
Of my purpose…
You sick son of a bitch.
Did you think you would break me?
And what? You walked free?
Because you never used your tiny dick, to rape me?
Did you think fear would eradicate me?
That I’d remain small and quiet?
Worried that you would one day find me?
Let that fog come. Let it wash over me.
You do not have the power to suffocate me, anymore.
6 feet tall, but you are so fucking small.
Taking advantage of a little girl.
You must truly feel awful,
What grown ass man needs to overpower a child?
Just to feel some sort of validation?
Am I expected to feel some sort of humiliation?
That I constantly allowed a man to conquer me,
Based on mere intimidation?
I’m all grown up now.
And yes, the damage you caused still lives within me.
But so does knowledge and strength and courage.
Face to face I stand, with reclaiming what is mine.
You picked the wrong little girl,
You sick son of a bitch,
You picked the wrong little girl.