are you still okay w poem suggestions? can you do one on the feelings of shame and guilt after csa
I keep thinking about the past,
letting it engulf me with each breath I wheeze out;
I can’t breathe.
the trauma is water and
I am drowning in shame.
My therapist tells me that it wasn’t my fault,
that there was nothing I could have done
to deserve to be plucked from the womb
and placed into this cruel world surrounded by people
who would search my insides
for what was missing inside their own bodies
and kill me in the process.
“It wasn’t your fault.
It wasn’t your fault.
is not yours to carry.
is not yours to hold.
Let it go,”
and I want to let go! I want so badly
to let it go,
to drop it down a sewer grate
and watch it seep through the cracks
but I can’t,
I can’t let go of the shame
because it feels
like its mine
to carry. It feels
like it is mine.
And I can’t stop
I am shivering in the corner in the middle of the night,
going over and over again in my mind
what could have been different.
What I could have should have would have done
if I had a chance to go back:
I’d scream, I swear I would scream,
I would say no I would say stop I would run so fast
no one would ever dare to even try to catch me
I would be a bullet from a gun.
No one wants to touch a bullet
unless they want to see the sky
in their eyes and the bright
And I would tell. I would tell the whole world
I would wear my pain on my sleeve
and on my face
I would say HE DID THIS TO ME
SHE DID THIS TO ME
HELP ME HELP ME
I would tell on the monster. I would…
But I shiver in the dark corner
of the room where I sleep, the room
which my child soul haunts,
and I cry because
I know, deep within my rotting bones, that
I would never have the
bravery, courage, nerve, to
do these things.
I carry this shame in my bones,
it is threaded through each choice
I make each word
I say each breath
you’d never scream. Even if you could go back
you would never tell. You would never
open your throat to speak other than
to accept whatever pain
was about to be lain into your palm
or your body
or your mouth.
You aren’t capable of the truth.
is what got you here
your body is the reason
it didn’t stop
IS YOUR FAULT. I am yours
Shame’s voice is an echo
over any of my thoughts
and my mind is a desolate cave.
Shame echoes and echoes and
I can’t hear anything else.
When I hear something else
it is Guilt,
and Guilt echoes just
My therapist says
and this guilt
I understand this.
I understand this because there is no child in the world
I would look at and say, “this
is your fault.” except
for the child who lives
in my own eyes.
I understand that the shame and the guilt
spin around and around in my mind
because it is a way a child survives;
There has to be a reason
for this hurt and this pain,
there has to be a purpose and a Why.
And the purpose comes as Guilt and the Why comes as Shame.
I know this guilt and this shame
are not mine to carry.
I know it is time
to let them both go.
But they have molded me since birth,
I was clay out of the womb
and my bones and my brain developed
with a breast milk coated with
pain and guilt and shame,
I know that this shame
is not mine to hold
but I can’t shake this fucking feeling
that there is no way for me to redo the structure of my identity;
I am like pottery sculpted and glazed.
You cannot simply
start again, take the same pieces
of what you created to
make it new. You have to use
brand new clay.
If you try to remake me,
I will shatter. I will see the sky
in my eyes,
and walk into the light.
I don’t know how
to let this go
without losing myself
in the process. I don’t know how
to carry the wounds left on my body
without also carrying the shame.
I don’t know how to be anything
but fragile, and I don’t know how
to handle myself