A L I V E

A L I V E long poem

Photo by Keith@Fibonacci


How has this affected me?
How has this not affected me
Am I even the same person anymore?

I have been split.
Split into two

Before the rape
After the rape

Before I was me. I was alive. I was h a p p y., care f r e e. I loved people. Everyone was a friend. I was genuine, I was glad to meet your friends and make them feel at home. Yes, I was shy and reserved but I was always ready to make a new friend and get to know someone. I was open to trying new things and going to that party with you and your new friend and having a great time. I’m in my 20’s, this is my prime right? This is my mindset? This is why I didn’t question this night.

Now?

This second person that I have been split into?

I am a costume. I am a dead person wearing a Blanca costume. Lol. Who is this? Who are you?
This is someone pretending

This? No. “This” is ME. ME ME ME. I am F A K E. I am t r y i n g. But I can’t breathe. I am suffocating. When that guy looks at me – I feel disgusting. When I walk out the door, I feel like I can’t breathe. When my shorts feel short- I am “asking” for it”. When I’m not covered head to toe, I deserved it right? When I think about the de many girls growing up, I am t e r r i f i e d. I am scared. I want to protect them. I cry at night sometimes thinking about them getting older and what the world has in store. I am a small, tiny shell. I am hiding in this skin. I am N O T happy. I am not free.

I am

S
T
U
C
K

I will never be the same. I will never be happy.
I will never see you the same way I did before. You – you are the man. You are an awful human being. You are an animal. YOU. You are a
r a p i s t.

You. You are a woman. You are helpless. You cannot fend nor protect yourself. You are WEAK.

But no. That’s not it. That’s not who anyone is.

I do not mean to offend.
I am just
L
O
S
T

My body, no longer “my body”. It is now tainted. It is tainted with your sweat. Your blood. Your scars. My body is no longer mine. This skin, the skin I live in, I hate it. h a t e.

There are moments these days when I begin to love myself, then I look in the mirror and look at my clothes or my body and picture you. Y. O. U.
I h a t e y o u.

I want to be away. I don’t want to be here or anywhere. I don’t want anyone surrounding me to know about this. Or you or anything. I don’t want you to exist and if your name ever gets brought up, I am prepared to move. That’s how much hate you and everything about you.

But the truth…..

The

T
R
U
T
H

t r u t h

I hate myself. I h a t e M E.

I should have known. I should have tried. I should have fought. I should have stood up for myself.

My mother raised me better. She always warned us about this. And I just let her d o w n
I proved her right. That’s why I won’t tell her.
That’s why 6 months later, I have basically lost touch with my mother. Because I cannot l o o k at her, without seeing the disappointment in my eyes reflecting back from hers.

I should have f o u g h t.
I should have fought for her.

This is my fault.

I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to act. I was lost. I didn’t know this was happening.
I did know. But it felt like a dream. A bad dream. Then next thing I knew, it was rough and it was bad and I couldn’t move. And it was scary and I was stuck
Cried.tried.screamed.hit.cried.blamed.bled.suffered.pain.sweat.guilt.shame.blame.hurt.hate.strive.anger.shame.blame.hate.pity.sad.depression.terrified.TRYING.

I a m s u r v i v i n g.
I a m a l i v e.

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Aloke
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A passionate poetic utterance in the aftermath of the trauma of rape.

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