Photo of me by me demonstrating PTSD

It took me hours to create what I wanted to get in this photo. I knew what I wanted but not how to get there. I took this of myself in the mirror with a black wig on. I actually did an entire series with different wigs for some poetry but this photo in particular I did to submit for the survivors wall at the harn museum in our town in florida that allows victims of abuse to submit any art that helps the deal with the affects of PTSD. There are usually amazing photos, sculptures, poetry, some of it is hard to look at but shouldn’t it be! It’s how we really feel. This photo I did for me I wanted to show how it felt to be backed into a corner, vulnerable…but is the hand reaching or grabbing…can you only see one of my eyes because that is all I am allowing? How much of ourselves to we truly let others see? How much can we reveal of our suffering and perseverance without then also dealing with secondary victimization, blame, and judgment.

I cannot always explain how I feel but I can create an image that tells it and write poetry that does too. Here is my photo

Poetry…trigger warning

Shall I remove my locks?

Cutting away your desire of my flesh

Wasn’t it the flick of my hair

Or did you win me in a bet.

And what if I remove my breasts

No,

When you first touched me

I did not have any

Yet

(Hard words for you to read, imagine them in my head

Imagine me as a child in his bed)

Shall I gain 40 pounds of fat

No,

They should have told me

Weight won’t stop

Them,

From

That.

What can I do to remove you!

You’ve taken so much for yourself,

I am

Without myself,

A shell.

Residues of you

Come in scents and smells.

I am sentenced to a…you-hell.

Shh keep quiet,

I fight the years of grooming,

“Don’t tell. Don’t tell.”

Whether deemed saint

Or deemed whore

You take what is not yours…

Society does not care what is behind closed doors.

Neither do the molesters.

If not me,

Just another girl.

And the blame lies on my skin

Paper thin

From all the men.

So many men.

Yet it is their sin

Which they will repeat

Again and again and again

(No one will ever step in

To save the children from

The predator’s den. I know this,

It’s where I’ve been)

Word of me spread

As just a young child

” She will never speak of it,”

Like fire in the wind for miles.

The demand for youth is high.

But there would have been no demand,

I kept thinking as a girl,

If not for the multitude of detestable man.

You could never understand.

You will never understand.

Which is why I am alone here where I stand

(Or rather sitting in a wheelchair with a pen in my hand)

We call others barbarians!

Other countries

Other religions

But WE are the land of the great

Where little girls,

it is accepted, get raped.

Rich or poor,

We don’t escape

Behind the golden gates.

I watched

As protestors held their banners “Love. Not hate.”

It did not create change

Only action

Not bumper stickers

Could have unsealed my fate.

You say, ” NO! We do not accept rape.”

Then you turn back to your ham and your pie on your dinner plate.

(My story of your lack of action is not up for debate)

“I’ll kill him and they will never find his body,” I’ve heard a man claim, “If anyone were to touch my daughter,” he says in vain.

Words are more easily spoken

And rarely cause a stain.

A man will not risk being detained

But he will shout from the rooftops his empty distain.

And women…the wives…the same.

The cannot even whisper my name.

No one in the town.

No one on the lake

Where everything took place

I tried to tell the truth

But they covered my words in paint.

It would have taken only one.

No violence.

No words.

To give me self worth.

To make me safe.

No one chose me

TO THIS VERY DAY.

“Take her, she won’t complain, we have manipulated her brain.”

“She has nothing more to lose and we have everything to gain.”

The underworld is right in your face

As is the next little girl’s fate.

Your mere faith

Will not help her to be safe.

You cannot pray this away.

” If I only knew.”

You know.

The pain of my youth.

Everyone knows this truth.

It has nothing to do with me

It has everything to do

With you.

It has never been about me

But always you

And you

And you

And you.

So place your napkin in your lap

And devour your next piece of fruit.

Quietly

Pridefully

Chew.

It’s all you’ve ever done.

It’s all you’ll ever do.

I am the proof.