Posted in Poetry

The costs of rape


When I was young I was raped

Those moments feel taped

Replaying endlessly in my mind

Making each day a vicious grind


Now I have vivid dreams

Of what caused the screams

The new med’s are so strong

I keep “seeing” the wrong


My life has become a fight

With little hope or light

I cringe at the word future

Feeling nothing left to nurture


If my life were to finally end

Would my soul finally mend?

My spirit broken and lost

This is what being raped cost


I hate to be called a victim

Survivor the better dictum

But in this I have no say

The damage has more sway


I fight on, I can endure

For a present, I seek to secure

One free of the violent past

Memories with no right to last


It is just really, really hard

Like being given a bad card

The deck stacked against me

But I promise I will be free



I was 46 years old when I begun this blog, female and married with a house full of cats (7). My past is littered with the impact of events that happened when I was a teen. Two loves of my life have been nursing and studying. I just completed my Master of Arts: Media Studies endorsement. My blog will be about the things I think about, that might be better served being written rather than squirreled away in my mind festering. It is the meanderings of my mind as I seek to define myself and my world.

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