If I have to ask permission, when he never did - There's a problem. When people praise your stories of strength in sickness or in chemo, It’s allowed - Even he knows. That is why it keeps on happening; This is why little girls cry in secret; because this horror you don't want to hear or see - We have to keep it. Do you realize it is just as triggering to hear your happy tales of your folks when mine scrambled my insides like egg yolks - Do you realize your listened to cancer stories cut just as deep, because Mama and the others whose hearts I wished to keep lost their battles and are buried beneath a heap of earth - Do you realize every time you close your eyes and ears because my rape as a child is something you don’t want to hear - Well that's a damn shame my dear. It must be nice to have a heart of ice to this fear, to walk away or ignore it as if I don't live near the edge of a cliff because of it. That year after year, you get to shush me because it makes you uncomfortable to see. Well it shouldn't be comfortable. I had to tiptoe through life carrying the shame and you continue to enable the same. My life was no game. Five year old me could have heard it, had a word for it - But there aren't many words for that, aren't there. Not when people like you shush me when I tell about the violation under there, in my underwear, that he would rip off a helpless child. Yet I need your permission to speak his decisions. I had no choice - Not then; Not now. How could I, when you don't want to hear the cry, and I have to lie and say it hasn’t destroyed me. As if someone else you know isn't carrying this secret shame. There are so many of us, so many names that yea, I get it - It sounds like just another rape poem. A broken home don’t let it be known poem. It all sounds the same. That is the real shame. How stories of triumph can be shared unless Unless Unless It's of a girl who was scared. Undressed. Not by choice, no voice; And you are guilty just as they are.
[Kristina Rose Garcia 2021]