I can't tell you what age I was

When it happened

I can only tell you that I never really

Told anyone the story

Except once, and that was only

Bits and pieces, to my eldest brother

(My favorite color is purple. In my eyes, it stands for strength... integrity... boldness

Even when I don't feel strong, I will be that light strength,

like lilac.)

I only remembered it at the age

Of twelve

Maybe, it was thirteen, but I don't really

Remember when I remembered it

And it only came in bits and pieces,

That memory

(My favorite animal is the tiger. They are, to me, a sign of ferocity... elegance

When I am being mistreated, I won't sit on my tail. I will fight back- with great class- like a Malaysian tigress.)

Each time I speak of this story aloud,

I feel like I'm lying

I never want to be a liar

Even my fiction holds great

Fragments of truth

The biggest lies I want to tell

Are those that say I'm fine

When I'm not

(My favorite book is entitled Impossible. It speaks of a young girl who must break a curse- similar to Ella Enchanted. My 2nd favorite book is one called Words, which deeply engrained this truth in me: Simply... "The truth shall set you free.")

I don't believe I'm lying

How could a story just pop into my

Heart and soul- I feel it-

And be anything less than the truth

Still, I can't tell you how it happened

So it may just be a lie

That's why I'm writing this, maybe I can

Sort through it all and solidify the truth

Or the lies will fall apart

(One of the first poems I remember writing is called "Falling". It plainly objectifies this by remembering a bookshelf in front of the door...)

I don't remember any specific order

To these occurrences, nor age

How then, you may ask,

Do I know it isn't just my imagination?

I don't

Yet, I do

Every figment of the imagination is based

Off of something all too real

Embedded in a subconscious, although you

May not have remembered it yet

(My favorite singer is Beyonce. To me, she is all those things I described before. Strong... bold... fierce. As portrayed in her songs "Survivor" and "Listen", she will not allow others to hold her down.)

For a long time

I just felt lost

Silenced in myself, unable to speak

Release

Until I discovered words...

And then I couldn't stop using them

I could write down all the things

I had needed to say, but was too afraid to

Speak

(My favorite verse in the Bible is one in Matthew, I believe, which so beautifully says "For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.")

Maybe I was overwhelmed by these words

Did they begin to choke me, why I

Said a few- bits and pieces-

To my brother one midnight on the phone

Several years ago (Four, five?)

Since then, I have casually "mentioned" it

To my mother

So casually she must have awakened the

Next day and thought it a dream

Because she never asked again

And then last week, vented a single

Sentence of it to my uncle

Which has led me to this moment-

The telling

(I have always wanted to write. Not just for the sake of writing, but for a specific purpose. I wanted to write stories of things young girls, like me, were going through- Then, maybe, they would realize they aren't alone. Then, maybe, they would realize that someone understands. Then, maybe, I could help somebody by using my gift... whether it's only six words or many, many more.)

The slight introduction to this story

Would be when

One day my little brother and I

Were playing Life in our house

He was beside us, on the computer

Then laughed aloud at something

I turned my head to

See a photograph

And I don't remember what it was

Or what she was wearing

(My favorite art legend is Michelangelo. There's something he used to say... "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." I take those words and say the hurt I've been through is the chisel and one day it's going to let me fly.)

And now... the telling

("And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John 8:32)

Yes, there was a bookshelf in front of my door

There was and still is and will be forevermore

Before I was old enough or smart enough or

Strong enough to put it there, though, there was

An empty space, no lock, and a door that

Kept opening to reveal a frightened

Face, bits and pieces of a memory

That can't be erased

Maybe I learned to stay awake every night

Why I was no longer surprised, but

Refused to sleep without a light, as if

The light was a force strong enough

To keep the darkness from entering in

And taking me out, I never fought as the

Darkness would always win, always sure Mommy had

Told him I'd been a bad girl, why when

He came home after midnight, he wanted me to

Strip on the hallway floor right outside my

Bedroom door, strip until I was just wearing

My fear like a mask, or was I in a shirt,

I don't remember so I need to ask that

Little girl whose underwear was on the ground and

Though he beat me, I didn't make a sound,

Why didn't I cry out, I truly believed I'd

Been naughty and so exposing my body was

Just my punishment and though I didn't remember

What I did bad that day, I felt it was

My due, I wish I'd told someone so they could

Say it wasn't true, sometimes he'd beat

Me naked, and other times did fake it, a beating

For no reason, just to look and see me, touch me,

Little girl, tell me, I need to remember if he

Touched me, I need to know the truth so the

Truth can make me free, I need to tell

My story so the words will let me

Breathe, and I can't remember how

Old I was or if it was every night

All I know is something happened and that

Something wasn't right, oh how I want to

Remember, how I want the reason why, I'm

Angry at the little girl because she didn't cry

I hope one day to remember all, and then

Again to speak, until the broken parts of truth

Can somehow be released, I'm sorry that the

Little girl doesn't remember any more, but

Forever to the bookshelf that blocks him from the door

(Molest: 1. to bother, interfere with, or annoy. 2. to make indecent sexual advances to. 3. to assault sexually.)

I don't think I will ever open my mouth and

Say I was molested

Rather, I'll say I 

was affected

Physically, emotionally, verbally

It was a form of abuse

And maybe one day I'll remember the rest

But for now, this is my telling.

(My favorite quote is this: "And though she but little, she is fierce" -Shakespeare

And though I be but little, I am fierce.)

Thank you for allowing me to share

my story with you. It's been a release and now, I suppose,

I'll sit back and wait for the truth to

Set me free...

(My favorite word is "amazing." It's an adjective meaning, 1. causing great surprise or sudden wonder. One day I'll use my favorite word to describe my 2nd favorite word... a noun meaning, 1. the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint... "freedom.")