That poor child
"She was sexually molested Sunday
by her father. Not for the first time
Her father is in jail now."
So you think she's safe now.
Do you really believe that?
Sure she's physically safe,
But what about her mind?
She is still locked in a prison
of Terror. Helpless and scared
Only you can help her.
But you won't
You say she's safe
NO!
YOU'RE SAFE.
You will ignore it
She will try
It will forever haunt the passages
of her mind
Help her!
You always say a mind is a terrible
thing to waste
So is a life
Help her
Don't lead her on. Don't say she's ok now
Help her. Before it's too late.

The doctors said she was penetrated.
By what? They ask. They don't really want to know.
She says her daddy's fingers.
"How can someone be so sick?" says one
"My God." says another.
The third one just looks away.
Trying not to let on.
I have to get away, she thinks.
The new room!
It's dark, quiet, alone.
She gets there
All she can do is cry.
With arms wrapped around her,
she paces back and forth.
Wipe your eyes!
Don't show this!
Don't let them know!
Keep it inside.
If they knew, they would walk around you!
Avoid you!
Treat you like a leper.
Watch out, Crystal.

Don't be like me.

 

    this was written by me when I was 18. It is one of the hardest things I ever wrote, but by writing the poem, I channeled some of my pain, and it became bearable. I was working at a daycare, when the director called myself and two other teachers into his office to let us know that one of the children wouldn't be back, and why. It was the first time I ever cried about what had happened to me. It wasn't the last.

     

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