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Shame of the Innocent by Tamara Louise Beaches

Hey, is anyone out there listening?
Where are the ears to hear?
Her heart is opening wide;
can you feel her agony?
Does any one care?
Her tears are falling.
There are secrets in her soul
that has yet to emerge.
Her heart is covered within
its walls
of secrets yet to be heard
of tales yet to be told.
She is beginning to remember
and know,
are you ready to listen?

The voice that quietly speaks
volumes of horrors
of injustices,
of unfair playing,
at the expense of being an innocent,
trusting,
loving child,
tells of the plight of a little one
held captive by years of torment
who hides
and had no way to speak
her tongued was tied by
anguish laden pictures
of abuse as she sobs in uncontrollable
waves of exhausted emotional turmoil alone.
She lay alone weeping,
burying her face in her pillow,
to hide the convulsing sobs.
She had no place to hide.
The shame of how she felt
overcame her mind
freezing her
as she was immobilized from a
sense of reality.

His hand
so big
so rough,
so probing,
into flesh that was forbidden
for anyone to probe at such a
young age.
Her flesh reacting in ways
she does not understand
as he expertly guides his
hand to play the games
she hates.
Her mind does not understand what
she is experiencing
 She was so little,
dependent on those around her.
Trying desperately to be good.
Knowing that she was bad.
She hated his breath on her neck.
She wanted him to leave her bed
and not touch her ever again.
He did not seem to understand
that she did not like the game he played
with her body,
playing it like he thought she was
the old violin that would make
the sounds to give him pleasure.
She could see in his face at times pleasure,
when she was not far away in
the land where princesses live
to keep her distracted from
all he would do.
The vibrations that he created in her
body gave him an indulgence
she did not like.
She knew if she uttered a sound
to defend herself or to tell him
how his big hand hurt her inside,
how his actions made her feel the shame
and degradation of untold volumes,

that worse would happen.
She wanted to scream
"Stop rubbing me."
"Stop petting me"
as he devoured her with untold movements.
He had taken the privacy of her body
and had torn it to shreds.
She did not understand his longing for her
when she did not like the things he had done.
She was only little,
a small child,
and he was so big.

"Mommy, where are you?"
"Mommy, come take him away."
"Mommy, where are you?"

My mind begins to wander
to the fairy tale land
of imagination
to stop the feelings he evokes
in his every movement
that he engages
to bring him pleasure
leaving me to feel the shame
the feelings of violation
the betrayal of trust.

He is so big
His body is so strong.
There is no way to fight
him in his quest of touching me,
probing me,
using his fingers to do things
I can not even describe.
The world would be shocked that
he is doing this
No one has any idea of what he does.

I am so little.
I do not want him to hear
as I lay quivering
as his deftly moving fingers
feel between my tautly crossed legs.
I struggle to keep them closed.
I know what he wants to do.
He has tried this so many times.
I struggle to keep him away
but he harshly
mercilessly spreads my little legs
and he whispers that I had better let
him do what he wants or I will be in
trouble meaning he will do
something worse than just use his hand
to make me do what he wants me to do.
He holds me down so I can not
wriggle around to wiggle out of his grasp.
My mind is held captive by fear
of knowing that it is not okay.
His fingers continue to probe.
I am confused.
I do not know my way in the world.
I just know something is not okay
or I would feel as fine as he says
I should be feeling
and the look on his face says he feels.

I look out the window.
The birds chirp in beautiful songs
to sing me a melody to comfort me
in the early morn.
The house is still as a mouse.
I am the princess dancing in a ball room.
I am gliding gracefully away in my mind
in the land of beauty.

All of a sudden
I am free.
I hear, "You can never tell a soul.
It is our secret,"
as he leaves the room as quietly
as he entered it,
as quiet as the Indian brave stalking his quest,
and I go to the corner of the room
curled in a ball
trying to feel safe
but knowing that I will never feel safe again.
I am trying to cover me
sobbing as I convulse
uncontrollably in shame.
I am alone.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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