For five and half years, I was silent. Didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t find the words. Knew that, if I found the words, if I reported what happened, no consequences would occur for the perpetrator responsible. But I lived. I grew. I gained intellect and strength and finally found my beauty again. It doesn’t really end, once it’s over. (…) There are still days when the monster wakes” — but I am here. I am stronger than my past. I am greater than my present. And I am leaping boldly into my future, banishing shame, proclaiming love, and giving a voice to those who have been silenced. Rape is not a joke. This is the story of THE AFTER.
Tag: stories
tell me a story
fingertips
powdered in grey.
in green and gold and white and black.
in blues and pinks, in the dust of chalk,
in the dust of fairies,
in the dried blood of villains and heroes alike.
fingertips
powdered in grey.
in purple and peach and red and black.
in pinks and blues, in the questions unanswered,
in the questions abandoned,
in the royalties granted to those who have passed.
fingertips
powdered in grey.
in peach and red and purple and black.
in pinks and blues, in the shine of a crown,
in the shine of a sword,
in the battles and the losses and the victories won.
fingertips
powdered in grey.
in gold and white and green and black,
in blues and pinks, in the songs of maidens,
in the songs of men,
in the promise of a more loving tomorrow.
type,
type,
write.
type,
type,
read.
type,
type,
breathe.
look again.
Can you see them?
the words written across my
cheekbones,
the letters tumbling into single file,
the spaces neat and sharp and full of secrets.
Can you see them?
the shadows on my lashes,
the light bouncing around them,
the speckled grey muddling the message.
Can you see them?
the stories twisting in my hair,
the pauses dainty and soft, unbreakable,
the fears and joys and tears running like
water colored daisies.
Can you see them?
the lines and folds splicing me into
indeterminable sections,
creasing at the brow lines
and distorting the storm in
my eyes,
bruising the bend of my finger as it reaches my lip.
Can you see me now?
the musings of a miss 