Inspired by the “Me Too” movement, This is my story, told in my own language: Writing |
October 18th: I don’t know where I am. Just climbed in a car with some strange man Who says he knows my new friend Sam, And I’m riding backseat with my best friend Eve Who stares out the window nervously, And then looks back to smile at me. I’ve got a lot to learn at age fifteen. Cool kids don’t keep their records clean; For us, the rules are made to bend And it may feel wrong but we’re just glad to fit in. It’s getting late out when we walk in the door And I whispered to Eve: “I don’t feel safe anymore.” Strange house, strange town; Partying and drinking. The sun’s going down and I’m not even thinking, Liquor tastes awful but I can’t feel anymore While Eve is so wrecked she’s falling on the floor. In the basement with Sam; music is playing And she’s trying to speak but I can’t hear what she’s saying. I close my eyes because this headache is mean Until I’m awoken by the loudest scream And all I can see is a dark, blurry screen. Where am I? Could this be a dream? I see Eve on the ground and almost stop breathing; I see a circle of men giving one savage beating. I try to scream but there is no sound, As two strong hands knock me to the ground. I’m bound around the neck Almost too tight to breathe And I can’t bring myself to look over at Eve. It was age fifteen; I thought I was a queen, But really I’m just a joker. Why so fucking naïve? “Why didn’t you report?” Really? Why is this a question? I won’t let my misery feed their sick obsession. Though I’ve broken my silence and my discretion, The trauma I feel is in my facial expression. I’m feeling so tired, alone and so weak, As Eve holds her head down refusing to speak. I hope her silence takes the pain away And truthfully There is no right or wrong way. There is more to each story than just what you see And for each story like mine, There’s a girl just like Eve. ©Black Widow 2018 (Line count — 52) |