(For all the victims of sexual harassment)

 

Their names were many,

Their faces were multiple.

I simply called them “fearful”,

They simply called me “easy”.

 

I was “a carefree child” before I met them,

Soon became “frightened little thing”.

This world was called “pain and shame”,

 

This world was high school.

 

Adults realized my despair and called me many names,

As if they understood.

It was a succession of doctors

Trying to identify who I was,

Tell me who I wasn’t.

I became “suicidal”, “depressive”, “anxious”, “presenting PTSD symptoms”, “with sleeping disorders”, etc.

 

I believed them all

And understood that I was

Too broken to be something.

I was too simply “nothing”.

I didn’t have a name anymore.

I was unworthy to BE.

 

One day finally, someone called me “loved”.

 

I laughed bitterly, trying to ignore

My tears falling stupidly

But something inside of me

Broke down painfully.

 

And I was vulnerable.

And during that split second

When all my walls were down

His love came to me.

Healed me.

 

For the first time someone told me that it wasn’t my fault.

I wasn’t guilty.

They were!

And this… this was WRONG.

 

So each morning I wake up with the pain of memories

My mind trying to convince my body to lose against my disease

Telling me that dreams are better than life

And it is not worth waking up to strife

 

But now I know.

I am “worthy”, I am “loved”

And just because I wake up every morning,

 

I am a “survivor”.