I Am....Powerful.

Tue, 11/03/2015 - 10:19 -- mkmarti

I remember the breeze on my face,

The smell of the honeysuckle tickled the back of my throat,

And the burning of the scrapes on my back from the rocks.

I remember… their smirks filled with triumph.

 

I remember the sound of the rain that trickled down the window pane,

 And the sound of my mother’s cries.

“You’re nothing, you’re disgusting”

That’s all he said.

I remember the fear of him and the look in his eyes when he told me I would never be enough.

 

I was bullied as a child. Told that I was strange and far too kind.

My step father was abusive and repulsive, and I was a lamb. My mother my protector.

 

My memories like tar, stuck in the back of my mind,

Twisted and painful and hard to forget.

But I have moved on.

I have risen above the abuse and the pain of their taunts.

The pain is no longer sharp, just a dull thud when I hear those words, or smell the honey suckle.

 

I have grown older, and stronger.

Unfazed by what others think of me.

They see my long blonde hair and my piercing blue eyes and they think that I am pompous, spoiled, and uneducated.

My large breasts and bottom a constant target for the men that are intimidated by my presence.

“I’d like to slap that ass” and “I’d like those tits for myself”.

Assaulted and insulted.

But I move on, unfazed by their ignorance.

Unfazed by society’s acceptance of shaming and hatred.

An educated woman in an uneducated world. Powerful.

 

Grandma said that strength is a choice, and I have chosen strength.

It is all I have in this world that is made to tear me down.

The strength I hold in my heart when I am told that I am not good enough.

The strength in my gait when I walk past the men that think I am an object.

The strength that I possess when I chose to keep moving.

Powerful.

 

When you hear my name it is unique.

You think of kind and meek.

Perhaps on the outside,

But within there is power.

When you see fire, think of me. An undying love and strength.

When you see honeysuckle. Think of me, the sweet smell of radiance, and transcendence.

When you see my name, when you hear it, think power.

I am Powerful.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741