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Waiting for a few more entries before posting the next batch of submissions, love to you all!

I want to sleep, Without remembering; Without the nightmares.

I wish I could have lived without waiting for it to happen again and again, waiting for the inevitable.

I hate myself, More and more each day. Because I never did a thing to save myself.

- Anonymous Submission

Memory Recollection #21

You will never forget the quilt that was wadded up between your two swollen knees, “it’s better this way,” the arch of your back becoming an aqueduct for sweat, ache, spit, ache, semen, ache, and ache, and ache. You have spent a millennia pretending that to be torn is only two steps away from being whole. When he cries out “I’m here,” you have forgotten what it was like to hurt, you have forgotten what it was like to wait, you have forgotten yourself in the pockets of his jeans.

There’s a porch that creaks with unmentionable weight as he comes home from supper. He enters, kisses his wife, fixes himself a bowl of cereal. I couldn’t fill him. His wife never expects that his breath smells like cunt, he fumbles with a tic tac. I’m seven years old, I spell out “cunt” in the sand, maybe I misspell it with pebbles a few times, but I’m learning quick.

Smart girl, tidy girl, belly rumbling kind of girl. Legs spread too quick girl, says “ouch” girl, doesn’t fuss girl. Spits when she’s told to swallow girl, swallows to know how it tastes girl, brown girl. I have been many girls, but I have never once been this girl.

There’s a staircase, this isn’t my house, but I know how it smells. There’s food in the oven, the crisp skin of a salted bird. My ankles are sore, tied in knots to cheap wooden posts, there’s knives in my belly and a song in my head. Creak, creak, creak. I have learned to tell the men by their weight, they lumber, sneak, trip, and thud themselves to where I lay. Slink, slither, stutter into me, putter until you stall and then push yourself some more. Here, an altar is erected between two brown thighs, I am slut, I am danger, I am child.

- Onniki, 20, CSA Survivor

#abuse #csa #prose #trauma #graphic

Untitled, Anonymous, Submission

#trauma #ptsd #abuse #survivor #photo

Did you realize you were breaking me into pieces like the mirror I shattered years later, hoping my reflection would die together with it? When you prayed to allah three times a day, did you ever talk to him about me? Did you ask for his forgiveness or his approval? Did he grant it? Did you leave your wife because of me? When you fucked your new lover, did you ever picture she was me? Did you loose sleep because you knew what you do is wrong? Do you know you made me afraid of men for the rest of my life? When you told me years later to meet you in a hotelroom, what kind of hotel where you thinking about? A cheap one where you could finally get the rest of my broken body or a luxurious one where you could guilt me into staying longer because the room was so expensive? Did you think when you gave me gifts I would forget about the things you did to me? Did you mean it when you called me an angel or did it soothe your guilty mind? Did you even feel guilty? Did you die knowing you were a child abuser? Did you die in pain? Is there a place in heaven for people like you? Is there a place in hell for people like you? Would you do it again? How many more girls like me are asking you questions like that? How could you? Why?

“Questions I Never Get to Ask (my abuser)”, A.B, CSA Survivor

#csa #trauma #ptsd #abuse #survivor #poetry

the smell of surgical gloves placed over my mouth and nose. “If you hyperventilate you pass out faster” Rubber and the kind of chemicals they use to clean your bones. To take the sinew off. To wash off the blood and sterilize the wounds. It tastes like metal and iron and your own tongue in your mouth. “You’re not trying hard enough, we can’t start the surgery if you’re awake” Rubber and the kind of sterile they mean when they don’t even allow the soap from home. It’s too dirty and it doesn’t rip the grit from your pores. It tastes like the doctor’s hands in your mouth. You can trust it. “Okay, now we can start” Rubber and the ends of the thumbtacks. They’re pressed into your skin and you can feel the resistance. POP goes the epidermis and the blood stays inside for now but you can smell it. “I’m getting bored, give her a breathing hole” Rubber and my own saliva that leaked out of my mouth. It tastes like youth.

What Smell Do You Hate the Most, mbarakajapora

#trauma #ptsd #survivor #csa #poetry

We live in a trailer The living room and the kitchen are the same room There is a small section of tile floor in front of the kitchen area It goes into carpet We don’t have a couch, we have a bean bag You are crying again I am seven, maybe eight You have cried every day for the past two years You will continue to cry everyday day until I am almost 13 Then you will only cry when you see me Really, I should be the one crying You are crying again, at this point I am still not disillusioned to your tears, which I now know are worth pennies I am crying with you I reach out to comfort you, I whisper how there is still hope You push me away, I fall onto the tiles My elbow hits the cabinets You are standing above me “Say there is no hope” You scream I don’t respond You scream it again I curl up on the tiles They are cold against my face I suddenly become conscious of the fact that I have not eaten in three days I scream back at you exactly what you wanted to hear You continue crying the rest of the night I see faces in my walls I am 10 You are crying, again I still have not realized what you are You got fired for crying at work You bought a dog, he also goes hungry with me I don’t even know where we live anymore Note: I never bothered to memorize my address because I was used to moving at least three or four times a year I reach out to comfort you You scream, you do not want to be touched, you just want to be left alone I am 14 There is a tile floor in our kitchen We still share a room I am completely disillusioned with you I have finally realized your years and years of every kind of abuse You crying does not make me feel anything You are crying on your bed It is late, I want to sleep, so I shut off my light and try to ignore your sobs You’re not even crying about anything You just want my attention, you’ve realized that I’m not fucking wrapped around your finger anymore “Oh really? You’re just going to ignore me. You’re just like your dad!” At this point I would gladly be compared to my father My father is kind and noble He listens to me and believes me My father doesn’t manipulate me I say “I’m sorry, usually you just don’t want me to comfort you.” “Thats bullshit!” Always with the screaming For the next two hours I sit next to you while you cry, holding you I stare at the ground and remember the cold tiles I am 15 I live with my dad full-time I have not seen you in weeks Yet you keep trying to crash my world You come to my home, which I know the address of, most of the time Say that you are suicidal, without me you have no purpose I may be cold-hearted, but I just keep doing my homework The kitchen floor here is not tiled

“Tile Floor,” Anonymous

#trauma #survivor #abuse #poetry

Will you ever get out of my head? Seriously you have done nothing good for me just leave, I don’t want to hear the words “I’m sorry” like I used to I want you to choke and suffer, I was 13 years old but I wasn’t in your eyes, You wanted me to be your child, Even though you were 18 years old, The summer I lost a bunch of hair, Was very cold. I’ve spent a lot of time day dreaming, Thinking about what would happen if we didn’t get caught, Thinking about going back to you when I turned 18, It’s comforting in dream land but reality hurts and you know that it’s true, Say it just say it. I have flashbacks where I think you have your hands on me, Your long skinny fingers barely grazing themselves against my shoulders, Not touching me really, But hanging over me like a ghost, Most of the time I can ignore it but not anymore. You wanted to shove your cock down my throat and make me cry and beg, It never crossed your mind about all the cuts I have on my leg did it? I have had many boyfriends since you, There’s only two I would let touch me, One has really pretty blue eyes, The other is warm, Neither of them would do what you did… Or at least I hope I will get over my fear of men I have become something else since you were torn away from me, I still hurt myself and I don’t know why, I need you to cry for me, Cry for all the shit you have done to me, Admit it, You are horrid. You are walking away from this like it never happened to you, Show you who you really are, A monster, Say it, I know you want to, You hurt me, You are a pedophile, You like to hurt little boys, You are a monster

“Admit You Hurt Me. Please.” Anonymous, Submission

#trauma #ptsd #abuse #csa #survivors #poetry

“The ugliest child is fighting silent, trying not to cut into their own softest flesh.” Mixed Media, Sketchbook 2015/2016, Submission

#trauma #ptsd #abuse #csa #photo

Can we tag you in things that we've already posted?

Yes, of course, it would be appreciated!

#Anonymous

How often does this blog take submissions? I tried to submit a week ago but still haven't seen my work posted. I really hope this is still an active blog because I think the idea is so important for survivors!!

Oh my goodness, I haven’t been getting submission notifications until right now. Will be posting all submissions. Sorry everyone, you are all great and your patience is so appreciated.

#Anonymous

I didn't love you hard enough I didn't watch close enough I didn't scream loud enough I didn't say the right things I didn't do the right things I didn't say no I didn't say yes My eyes were closed I'm crying It hurts Please stop I don't want to Please stop Stop Stop I didn't agree to this I never I never said yes What did i do wrong Was it enough Was i enough No No No I didn't fuck you enough I didn't love you enough I didn't shut my stupid fucking mouth Shut up Stupid little girl I didn't give you everything I deserved everything I didn't say no What happened to the plans Was it my fault It was all my fault Idiot

Under the Cherry Blossom Trees, Anonymous ( Age 14-16, Emotional & Sexual Abuse)

#ptsd #sexual abuse #csa #trauma #submission #text

1. you will quickly learn that saying please does not make it stop. you will still beg every single time. 2. if you bleed through your sheets just tell her that it was your period. she will always believe you. 3. when you really do have your period, don’t use tampons. it will feel like him inside of you. it will make you sick. 4. it takes a lot of practice but eventually you can pretend to be somewhere else. imagine that the tan ceiling is sand on a beach. imagine that the pink walls are a princess dress at disney world. 5. sometimes you can get away with pretending to be ill. she will make you stay in the living room to watch over you. he will not risk touching you there. 6. occasionally he will hurt you so bad that you will have trouble walking the next day. when that happens it is okay to take one of her pills. it will not help much, but it’s better than nothing. 7. the nickname he gives you will still make you flinch years later. it will never hurt less to hear, but you will get better at hiding it. 8. you think that going to a friend’s house will give you a break. and it will. but you’ll soon realize that the longer you are away, the hungrier he will get. and it’s always so much worse when you come back. 9. don’t bother taking so many showers. you’ll never feel clean, anyway. 10. he has hurt other children before you. he will hurt other children after you. it is not your fault for not telling. you were a child. a terror-laced little girl. it is not your fault.

10 Tips For His Future Foster Children, Anonymous

#trauma #ptsd #csa #abuse #text #submission