i am not a victim

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 10, 2018

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Submitted: August 10, 2018

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I am not a victim.

It wasn’t so scary the first time i fell.

I turned the knob of the shower to wash my feet and the glass shattered,

cutting my hand tell it bled red. I didn’t cry, though.

I pleaded to put a band-aid on it.

Yet, deep wounds need more than to be covered. Sometimes they need to be stitched together again.

Please don’t take me to the emergency room, i pleaded. If I hold my hand and press it together, it will be okay. I’m okay.

I wasn’t okay.

When the doctor asked me how it happened,

I “improved the truth”

told him I slipped on a bit of water because Mom said he wouldn’t understand.

He wouldn’t understand why we wash dishes in the bathtub, or have cardboard for countertops,

I received 27 stitches that day.

Yet, I don’t want to “improve the truth anymore.”

The truth is I was never deprived of anything or living without

at least i never thought of it like that.

Yet, when Mom decided to travel West, out to California, to keep the family together, we followed.

No plans. Just the hope that maybe this time it would be satisfying enough for her.

I was eleven.

My soul held prisoner

Because I didn’t know where to place my anger

So i put it inside me

Captive

Waiting for an excuse

To scream out

Yet, i was okay.

I want to say life was good when all that mattered was us,

and we didn’t need anyone else, but each other.

But It could’ve been just as bad back then,

and now I’m just noticing the not so nice things in life, like lonely,

and what it feels like to be 3am and wondering if breakfast will be books again, because the only thing free is the public library.

I am not a victim

I took the bat and broke the windshield

Mom, I’m sorry for that 200 dollars of glass but those words overwhelmed me.

I didn’t know where to place my anger so I placed it on you.

From motel rooms, to tented nights,

to moving car,

we drifted endlessly,

You took me places that only ended in broken promises

Sometimes I felt like all i wanted to do was stare at a blank wall and cry

because i didn’t know what i was feeling.

And I was terrified

of losing myself,

my fighting spirit, my ability to hate.

that I would only ever be a bird catching air currents,

not looking for an end

but a means: The means to eat, sleep, go. repeat.

I wanted a place, a purpose, a person.

But all you ever treated me as was a puppet,

A player in the game.

I didn’t mean break the glass

But i wish you would’ve noticed the plea,

The plea of helplessness

Wish you could’ve held your hand out

Could’ve felt your palm pressed into mine,

Whispering, “I love you?”

I don’t know.

But I only ever felt your whispers

pushing me down harder every time,

Just let me be,

Have empathy,

I am not a rock,

Rumors wear at me,

Stares penetrated my skin,

Like lasers,

To last a lifetime,

Forever in fear,

Of you,

"Be strong,"

So they say,

But how in a world that all I’ve ever known is to judge and jest rather than love and listen?


© Copyright 2018 hichristina. All rights reserved.

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