(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.
For the first time someone told me that it wasn’t my fault.
I wasn’t guilty.
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”.