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Here are some poems I wrote a few years ago that were "published" on a friend's website where my pen name is rag doll. These poems are pretty disturbing. Probably, from reading them, what they're about is fairly evident to the reader, but I'll explain at the end, anyway because these are perhaps the most personal and painful poems I've ever written in my life.

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ragdoll


I call myself a rag doll
and paralyzed by fear
too weak to even crawl
made sounds that none could hear
behind a heavy wall
lost all that I held dear

I was their rag
their doll
their bone
a worthless toy
to rip and maul

though once so weak
I now am strong
I now can speak
against the wrong

now I sing for all to hear
help weak ones to escape their fear
I sing of this to let them know
though once they didn't have a choice
they now can choose to have a voice

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Hunted


I remember the lust in their voices
sound dripping out in half-hushed whispers

through mouths too full of saliva
and it makes my skin crawl

hungry monsters
eyeing me like prey
circling like vultures, they
inspect me
dissect me
digest me
taking away my dignity, my humanity
and there was never a safe place, never
nowhere I could go to escape them
even haunting me
in memories and nightmares

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Guilt By Association


transference of blame
ought to be called
by a more hideous name
leprosy on my skin
hands in memory
and I recoil in horror
trapped
helpless with fear
dragged through the mud
through the filth of their distorted lust
blame inside of me
shame inside of me
when I remember
that shame & fear
were all that held me in silence
and what I lost, so precious
only pieces of the whole
but more than that, somehow
and the shame that should be theirs
weighs down my broken spirit
a burden not meant for me
on my skin and can't be washed away
and in my mind
horrible memories
horrible

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Damaged


damaged

I fling that word
around
and I know it's been

abused

but right now
it describes me
defines me

broken

it's true
who am I -
I'm not sure yet
I have a vague idea
of who I'd like to be
want to be
need to be
but still ...

broken

and it takes
time to make

something

out of these
broken pieces of me

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This is about something that happened to me when I was a kid, at age 8, I was molested by a group of 6 teenage boys. I wrote these poems many years later, and a school newspaper (but only because it was a tiny school and the paper was desparate for stuff to fill the pages.) The reason that I submitted these very personal poems for publication is that I thought that they might be able to help some people who have shared this kind of pain - to show them that they are not alone, and to help them grieve. I also thought it would help other people to better understand people who were abused.