Trigger Warning:
Survivor Poetry
I stand before you; trembling
I wonder who you see
When you stand before me judging
Have you ever seen the “REAL” me?
I am a hidden character artist;
My canvas is always breathing;
An ever-malleable silhouette.
An animated illustration
Embryonic and invisible;
Protectively I stand
Shielding my purely loving self
From every woman, and every man
The person whom you really seek
Can not come out today
She’s hidden deep within a sheathe
And, protected, she will stay
She’s an independent consciousness
Stout-hearted, curious, and playful
And even on the most bitter day,
She can truly be quite colorful
She yearns to be SAFELY free,
This sentient being in a frame,
Her mind is still her very own
My girl, without a proper name
I wonder why you think you know her,
Has she spoken nicely, once, to you?
Are you even sure you know her face
This girl, you say you knew
Do you know, it’s those like you
Who’ve abandoned her the most
Each and every time you chose
To hide your eyes in shame
Or to gossip over toast?
I change her ‘media’ frequently,
From her eyes to her colored hair
I may even let her gain some weight
Anything — to let her disappear
At night I lay and speculate
The chance you may come near
How close are you to discovering
The girl who hides in fear?
A devious new distraction
Is meant to direct and titillate
Your attention and your scrutiny
Did you see the new portrait?
How easy it is, for me to change
The direction you are going
Especially when you only believe
The package is worth knowing!
“Magazine” face screwed tightly on
Gravely I wait… ALONE
Eventually, he’ll roll through my door
Arriving to claim his own
A “Real-Man’s” wife, to be sure!
A statue, HE believes is worth “parading”
Inside is a spirit who’s broken now
A heart, who wishes to stop beating
She’s trapped in a world consumed by hate,
Jealousy, and honest danger
Hurtful words; unpredictable attacks
Leave her pondering, from the corner
What has she done to deserve such rage
She really doesn’t understand.
What has she done, Sir, to earn this fate
Why ‘MUST’ you raise your hand?
Inside this soul, cowers a little girl
A spoiled child; a wistful teenager
But also, there’s a woman; Sir,
Beaten; and isolated
She’s screaming out; she’s crying, Sir
Can’t you finally try to see her?
She peers behind broken eyes
A human being who is dying
She leaves her hope behind her
One angry red droplet at a time
But as she disappears inside
A little prayer she is reciting:
She prays somewhere, someday, instead,
Someone, eventually may find,
The person who she “might” have been
If the world REALLY had “been kind”