She was feeling like being Medusa,
And she was guilty.
As if she was the one who had committed the crime.
The “R-word” was messing with her head,
“He’s a nice guy, no one will believe you”
her friend said.
And asked to forget what he did,
Only if that happens to them, god forbid,
They’ll understand her situation.
How he has done lasting devastation,
Without a moment’s hesitation.
She just sat there staring into space,
Infirm, immobile, a rare case.
That day, she was with a someone familiar,
Mask fell off,
When he started touching her
She saw in him the Devil himself,
Felt betrayed by the trust itself.
Bruising her body,
Forcing himself on her,
He didn’t stop.
No! She cried.
Nothing halted him from climbing atop.
He asked her to wait,
Said she’ll like it this time,
He keeps penetrating,
As if her words didn’t worth a dime.
Her conscious drifted away,
Words ceased to leave her lips,
Lying on the bed,
Hands tied behind the head.
Did she just have sex?
No, she didn’t.
She experienced Hell.
And this will remain a secret,
An untold tale.
She did the walk of shame home.
Like Martin Luther returned from Rome.
With so many questions in the head,
No clear answers in sight.
Who do you turn to when you’ve been abused?
Will she ever be able to trust/love?
or be loved again?
Her adolescent brain confused, wondered,
Who would want you when you’ve been used?
Those flashbacks started haunting,
Ruining her once peaceful sleep,
The pain getting harder,
She keeps trying to not weep.
Failed attempts became routine.
He oozed out of her self esteem.
Yet she thinks no one will believe her,
And of course, he won’t admit.
But what if come back again,
To repeat ‘it’.
– Mahesh Mali.
If you haven’t already read, go and check out my poetry book – “Reflections of My Youth”
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Mahesh Mali |Awesomengers