by Anna Smith
House of Shame
A letter to my body:
For years you’ve played protector
Shielded me from a truth
that our twelve-year-old brain
couldn’t comprehend
For years you held the memories
Bore the marks
of callused hands clamped over our mouth
Words trapped in our throat
Hot breath in our ears
The grip of a grown man’s hands on our
Twelve-year-old wrists
For years he forced you to become
a House of Shame and Secrecy
No one will believe you
You deserved this
And for years, I’m sorry to say
Even I didn’t believe you
And so we spiraled
So full of words
No space for food
We withered away
Made lines on our wrists
To bleed out the diseased
Not even realizing
The secrecy was the disease
So we stopped swallowing secrets
Learned to speak truth
Whispered words
To family
Teachers
Mentors
And Friends
Surrendered them to the police
Gently placing the truth
In their open hands
Wondering - will they believe me?
And they did
And the district attorney did
And the grand jury did
And at the age of thirty-two
We took our place at the witness stand
Pried his invisible grip from our wrists
Looked him in the eye
And spat truth in his direction
And the jury said
Guilty.
The jury said guilty?
The jury said guilty.
And the jury said Guilty
Twelve times
Twelve times
For twelve years
Dear Body,
You are no longer a house of shame
You are no longer a sack of bones
You are not a vessel of abuse
At his hands or your own
You are a temple of truth
You are victim
Survivor
One and the same
And so much more
Truth was the white flag
That ended the war between you and me
And now, we walk hand in hand
Healing as one
With Love,
Your Brain