It’s your fault,
I told you first,
What happened that day.
You listened with glee.

I wasn’t to say,
But I expressed it all.
To which you say,
“It’s your fault.”

If he does it again,
You didn’t tell sooner.
When should I have said?
She was a Christian—
Where’s the humanity at?

“****** isn’t a sin,” she said.
What friend is that?
Is it really my fault?

Free from one..

I was free from one only to go to another

A love I thought was just forgotten

He beat me down with words and hands

Feeling pathetic I hid to the ground

His hands were heavy but words were worse

The scars I have are just from words

The physical pain emotional too

I was incredibly lost at that moment too

It took it all

But I survived again

To leave with scars

Not quite the same

I made it through—
I really did.
I fought the dragon;
he’s gone and hid.

I needed no sword,
because, you see—
I had it in me
for eternity.

I’m proud. I’m strong.
And when I fell,
I hit the ground
but rose as well.

The dragon’s slain.
There is no more.
I can move on
with those I adore.

I’m free at last—
you best believe.
I’ve seen the worst,
but I still breathe.

Just know this truth:
I’m still the same—
just with scars
and a stronger name.

She was 12 when everything changed.
The man—
he has no name.

If I could go back,
I’d say:
you don’t get to treat me this way.

Behind the words
were fear and dread.
I walked on eggshells,
quietly,
carefully,
around you.

Watching
with timid eyes,
I should have known—
you weren’t to be trusted.

But I was only 12.

Black as night the crow was sat

At the top of the chapel he cawed and cawed

She came running down the gravel her heels were pounding on the floor

The fog was heavy all swirling around

The wind howled loudly echoing sound

She hid in the chapel which was covered in dust

To pray to a god she never believed

She held a rosary tight in her hand

So tightly indeed she bled her hand

The blood ran down the beads so slowly

As red as a rose but even more deadly

She cried and cried but reality hits

When realising it was a vampire who bit

She felt her neck and true was this

She felt two wounds which matched his teeth

Time was coming she knew was truth

Fangs would grow.. on poor amelie

She touched her teeth, their already here

They kicked the doors in to catch her there

They screamed at her to hit the ground

She launched at them without at sound

The blood that was lost was not wasted

As poor amelie was not so masted

She drank it up all of it.

She left the chapel to hear the cries of the crows

A touch on the thigh.
A touch on the neck.

You would think
these were wanted.
You would think
this was affection.

But the touch came from
a person of trust.
A supposed person of trust.

A hand on my shoulder.
A gaze down my legs.

Why would you think
this would happen instead

The push off the thigh.
The squirm from the neck.
The hiding of legs
from the touch
of your stare.

You would think
this was a stranger.

But this wasn’t a stranger.

This was a man
that I called
Dad.

When I was younger
I thought I’d be wise.
When I was younger
I thought I’d be smart.
When I was younger
I thought I’d be pretty.

I pictured myself in white—
a dress that shimmered,
flowers tucked into my hair,
a train trailing behind me
like a dream made real.

Being a bride—
I thought it would be the most wonderful thing.

But there was no dress.
No veil.
No vows.
Just a heavy bouquet
placed by my side.

The man I trusted—
the one who should have given me away—
was the one I needed saving from.
A monster wrapped in respectability.

Now—
I don’t need a dress.
I don’t need to be a bride.
I don’t need flowers hanging off my arm
to feel whole.

I am me—
that’s all I need to be.
The trauma of him
won’t carry me.

I pushed on.
I did it all.

My younger self thought I’d be wise—
and I really am.