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In Violation

I’ve been told by the church I’m embarrassing, shameful, something to be used as a warning of what not to be. To never believe the words from the “people like you,” when all I ever said was I was in pain.

And yet still my soul reaches for the safety that was never there in the first place. For the hope that maybe one day I’ll get it right. When I stop screaming in agony. When my vocal cords are shredded enough that I no longer have a voice in which to scream “NO” at them anymore as they take what is left of the person, that is now unable to consent- the way they prefer it. They took my sense of safety, dignity, innocence… while I was bound and gagged so they couldn’t hear me tell them to stop if it somehow did make it out. Because I deserved it. How could I believe I had the authority to put myself in the way of “God’s Will?” This was his plan, can’t you see? Resisting will only make it hurt more.

Hyper-responsibility

Selective mutism

I can’t decide which version is better. I kind of like the simplicity of the second one

Street Dog

When I say I relate a lot to dogs

I probably don’t mean that the way you think I do

It’s not in the way of unconditional love or always being happy to see people like most people assume

I mean it like in a rescued street dog kinda way…?

I’ve spent my life begging for scraps

Of affection, attention, basic decency,

to not be manipulated into trust just to be put back on the street later

It was a pretty rare occurrence

Standards so low trash looks like filet mignon and I don’t deserve something so nice

Always on the outskirts, waiting for the party to be over to pick through the garbage because I know I’ll be shooed away if I tried to approach before then

I grew up defending myself from the same people who claimed I was safe with them

The moment I didn’t like being pinned down, I became a target

It came with consequences

Ones I don’t know if I’ll ever grow out of

Cause now I can’t tell the difference between the hands that hurt and the hands that love

All I see is a fist

Was it raised to stroke or to strike?

All be damned if I don’t bite first and ask questions later

I won’t be caught vulnerable

Those are the worst of them

They wait until you’re relaxed

Lull you into a false sense of security

Eventually even the well meaning ones lose tolerance with constant cowering in corners or shaking under tables after 6 months

Not everyone knows what getting a street dog means and they’re in over their heads

Or after needing one too many stitches

“But I’ve only been kind to you!”

Like I’ve never heard that before

“I would never!”

Uh huh.

But I’m not all teeth and trembling

I also roll over for the wrong people sometimes

I’m not sure why I do it

Ask them “how small do you want me?”

I give the worst people too many chances cause they’re so much bigger than me,

And I’m afraid that I don’t stand a chance

“life has been hard for them too” I say

“it was an accident”

“it was my fault”

Then draw blood from the ones that tried to pet me

They got too close

I got nervous

It was instinct

I don’t mean to cause harm, I only want to defend myself

Sometimes the lines between the streets and my home get blurry when the fear kicks in and I forget where I am

It’s never been my goal to do anything more than just survive

I’m not sure I even know what love means in the end

I don’t know how to receive the one thing in the world I’ve wanted my whole life

So I keep forgetting to post on here but Inktober day 28 for this one. Prompt was mirrors.

Inktober day 20 Babies

Went abstract with the prompt but this one’s about being labeled problem child or rebellious for having very normal responses to abuse, especially environmentally.