Saturday, February 13, 2016
It feels so wrong, I remember shouting. Screaming so that my words could make sense, Maybe I’ll try poetry, I remember thinking, When the words came out alien. The trust I felt for you, Deep into my soul, The trust that would have chased you across fire, Even though, I was only a small boy. The trust that would have carried you across that same fire, Though I was a small boy, A mutilation to my heart. It feels so terribly wrong, I remember shouting. You were my elder, a parent to me, Still, you told me that what was happening was my fault, You offered me treats, When I ceased playing your game, You told me I’d die, You’d tell me others I loved, Others I depended on would die. You told me the rest, The others, Would simply believe I lie. Though I was only a boy, I took this weight, Buried it into the recesses of my heart. It feels so wrong, I remember shouting. I remember pleading with you to consider, The tragedy that would come, In my future, Perhaps provided a glimpse, Perhaps simply the same intuition, That makes a child know beyond a doubt, How wrong what you do is. And I remember knowing, Knowing, That no one would believe me, growing, Growing, Into a shell of a man because of what I knew was wrong. My body, an enemy, My heart, an enemy, My sexuality, a disgusting enemy. Because you showed me, That I took pleasure from it too. You made me loathe myself, Never developing an identity, Because in developing a personhood, Would mean feeling the feelings, Associated to such devastating, Events. Feeling I did something to deserve this, Though I was a small boy, Feeling as if I was being punished, Being told I was being punished. Screaming, screaming now, Because if I don’t scream, The words won’t come out. I am a worthless, awful and helpless person, Because of what you did to me. And the words just won’t come out. I have to hide, I have to hide who I am, Because others will know what I have been through, What I didn’t fight away. God knows I should have tried harder. I should have tried so much harder, To fight, To push, Their shameful ways away. I bleed. The totality of my self is bleeding, And I am wounded. My feelings, gone, I have learned well to bury them deep, Because feeling this hurts so much. I have learned well to bury them deep, Because even feeling happiness and love, Reminds me that I was just a small boy. Though I was just a small boy, I am feeling like every time I tell, I am confessing, An admittance of wrong doing. I didn’t do anything to deserve this, did I? This small boy yearns to hear those words. And though he was just a small boy, Cries every time he hears them, And weeps every time they are answered, Appropriately. As I grew, You hurt me too. The things you did, I would black out from shame, From feeling like I was not in control. I would black out from betrayal, From feeling like the only people in the world, Who loved me, Were using me too. I would black out from helplessness, Feeling like I hadn’t a choice. I hated it. As I grew, You hurt me too. And it grew, And grew and grew, The things you did to hurt me grew. Please don’t forget the seriousness of what they did. Please don’t forget the reason for all of this. Don’t forget how much I have been through. The petal of a flower blew past my ear, Then, as I reflected over my life again. I feel strongly that that same feeling, The feeling of having no worth, Was the same feeling that made them do these things. Perhaps, a glimpse. Perhaps, an intuition. It’s absolutely not right, and Though I was a small boy, I am confessing my choice now. I choose to forgive, Even though it still hurts more than most can know. I am asking you to understand why it still hurts. In the process of my forgiving, I’m feeling like you’re forgetting how serious the crimes were, The duration. I feel like you’re forgetting just how extreme, The crimes were, Why I am having a difficult time now. Just please remember compassion, Remember mercy before sacrifice. I’m feeling like you’re forgetting that I was just a small boy. I pray truth would reveal. Who knows what it’s like to feel these things? Can anyone help me with this difficult forgiveness? I remember reading a poem, Once when I was just a small boy, That started like that, Giving the only beautiful and True answer. The only One who can is Jesus. It feels so wrong, I remember shouting. Screaming, I don’t deserve this. I’m better than this. My mouth, the vocal chords for that split instant, But only for that split instant, Believing I am better than the ravaging feeling, That my heart is pure. My heart, All the while, crippling itself, doubling over, Curling into a recoil stance, In anticipation of the terrible blow that is sure to come, In anticipation of the sure wound that is terribly to follow. It’s so difficult, So incredibly difficult, I remember screaming. I remember screaming, Because it was the only way The words would come out. It’s so difficult trusting, When being told to trust, Hurt so much, In your formative years. It’s so difficult to let go. Getting to the point Where you actually enjoy the security Of not trusting. This is where I was, And I am not ashamed of that. I’m not ashamed of being human, Of having feelings and tears. Because it’s these that make me human, Not what we do, What we say or think. What we feel. How we feel. Learning how to feel. And feel that all makes sense, To trust, To feel that He is opening a window, And wants for that window to remain open, Because I was just a small boy, Because of everything I have been through. Learning not to judge others, Because we are already judged; Also because of our own pride. We cannot understand, I cried. I open my heart, allowing through it to flow, Joy, humility and love; peace. In remembering that I am whole, In remembering that I am loved, I am given a chance to believe. In remembering I was just a small boy, Who grew, Who grew with the choice to believe That feeling that I was not whole. Who grew the choice to believe That there is good in everyone who grieves. Who nurtured the choice to believe, There is hope for the future. I remember the way Almost instinctually, I desired to care for my body, To show it compassion, When I realized the hope I have. I remember the way Almost instinctually, I desired to nurture my mind, To learn new things, To experience new things, To experience real love, When I realized the hope I have. Effectively reflecting with sorrow, Over the times, When my hope didn’t exist, Or rather was not made clear. Reflecting on the scars on my arms, Self-inflicted brutality. Reflecting on the bitterness in my heart, Self-inflicted brutality. Though I’m not responsible for the sin, Feeling the responsibility of the now, Of the present, Of the reaction. Taking that self-inflicted brutality, offering it, Into your hands, In addition to the suffering, the prized glory and life Into your hands. That was when, in my joy and peace, I remember screaming with pride, There is hope for the future, Because of what He has done. There is hope for the future Because I am better than the pain And nothing that could happen now, Could bring me back to where I was then. The horror, The shame, the fear. It’s all over now. Now, the void is filling up. The void, Empty and black and nothing, Filling up to the brim with the love of God. Praise the Lord.