A long held taboo
Hidden
In the darkness corners
Of most societies.
The very act
Of mentioning it
By its victims
Is met with ridicule
And offense.
As if
They're seeking
The public spotlight
Of fame and notoriety
From society
At large.
Receiving mixed messages
From those
In position of power
When coming forward
With their complaints.
Wondering
Who should they trust
With their truth.
When their truth
Is dismissed
By statements like:
“It's just boys
Being boys.”
Else
It's “just sibling rivalry”
Nothing to worry about.
As their very lives
Are shredded
Once more
By each brutal step
Through the healing process.
As if
They had committed
The crime
Themselves.
Internalizing
Their self-hatred
And self-anger
Into a very negative
And destructive energy.
As self-harming
Becomes the norm.
Some self-medicate
Through the abuse
Of alcohol and drugs.
Placing themselves
In high risk situations
To find self-worth
And self-value
From others.
Or else
Taking sharp objects
Scoring their bodies
Until blood shows.
In shame
These wounds are hidden
Not wanting to draw
Anymore attention
To themselves.
While
Battling thoughts
Of impurity and uncleanliness
That no amount
Of soap and water
Can remove.
These hideous cycles
That will continue
Until broken.
Another heavenly Angel
Drops ahigh
Into the fiery pits
Of Hell.
With little notice
Or concern
Beyond brief outrage
As life moves on.
Author's note: Not sure, why I wrote this poem on domestic violence/abuse. Except, I felt this need to do so. And yes, I'm a survivor and a witness of this, myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment