I wasn’t sure whether to share this poem because it is really personal. Like, so personal I can hardly even re-read it myself. But, you know what? I’m going to share it because it’s my story. It’s my tale to tell. I have nothing to be ashamed about. He is the one to blame. And maybe, in sharing my story, it might help others to know they are not alone and they are not to blame. Children are never to blame. So, here it is:




I remember the holiday
in the caravan
by the sea,
just him and me
and his friend
who smelled of cigarettes
and brandy;
just like he did.
Two old men
causing terror
as I lay awake
w a i t  i   n    g
for their game—
their assault
which they said
I deserved.
I had learned to
at home
night after night, as
he took his pleasure
from my immature body
and all I could do was
s u r v i v e
make it through
and pray I could die
in the night.
But I didn’t,
in the end it was he
who never woke up,
and I was destroyed



Author: chocotales

I am a writer who is passionate about words. I find them magical and seductive. I write short stories, poetry, and non fiction. I'm currently working on my first novel.

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