MY MOURNING CHILD

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I am sad today; some may ask why; others, that i have just cause to feel sad, others being the very few that know of my secret. I am grown woman although very often think myself strange for feeling like ‘my’ four year old child. I feel permanently in mourning for the something i can never recover, my lost childhood. 

 

I was young child and subjected to cruel and ‘don’t tell anyone’ childhood sexual abuse. No-one knew….I tried to tell but the words always fell silently from my lips, in fear and with much hesitation. The abuse continued, unbeknown to a soul, other than me and  him, him and me, no-one else, (him, being my father). I never thought of him as my father – he was always, for my entire childhood, the monster who came in the dark. He smelled bad, of grime, sherry and salted peanuts, pipe tobacco on his skanky breath and Brylcreem hair making me feel so sick that i wanted to throw up, but i dare’d not for the beating i would have got. 

 

I am sad today; memories falling in on me like a tumbling wall of bricks, until i am hurting and bruised. I cannot soothe myself. I need someone to care, i need someone to tell me it’s ok, it’ll be over soon. My silent words echo back at me….

 

MOURNING

 

 The sun has lost its rays,

The moon is absent of its shine

The stars no longer glimmer

Through the dense layer of rainclouds

 

Obscuring the deep black midnight sky

So that, no brightness can I see

My vision dark, now I am blind

To the beauty of the world

 

I cannot see the first snowdrops in February

Nor the yellow of the early daffodils in Spring

The first new blades of grass, dull to the eye

The delight of the first birdsong falls on deaf ears

 

My sight has become dim

No ray of hope to lift my spirits

From the bottom of the oak barrel

My thoughts are hiding in

 

My heart filled with yawning sorrow

As I grieve for one lost so very long ago

My child’s primary years stolen from her

Yet they were her right to live each day

 

My world turned deepest grey

Evolving into the darkness of fear

With the coming of each new waking day

And worse still, each and every night

 

Lying awake so frightened

She never dare to open her eyes

As she knew the crack of light would appear

And her young life robbed so cruelly from her

 

I am lost in the darkness, in my mourning

My world has become stagnant and repugnant

The ebb and flow of the tides ceased

I need someone to unlock the pain in my soul

 

Who is the holder of the key?

For it is not I, at this moment, though I search

Through the chaos and the Bedlam

My life has fallen into and is trapped in that place

 

I need a hand to reach out and touch mine

I need gentle arms to hold me while I weep

Freeing my grief from the locked cage it is in

I need kind words to soothe my four year old.

 

I need a gentle hand to hold, a kind word softly spoken. I need my bear. I am a grown woman.

4 thoughts on “MY MOURNING CHILD

  1. Wonderfully written poem. I deeply relate to feeling like a child, stuck in the age of when my abuse happened, but trapped the the body of an adult woman today. It’s a very difficult concept to grasp; that I am not 5 years old and that the abuse is no longer happening, even when the memories and feelings are so powerful. I care. I am listening. ❤

  2. Thanks Jen. It helps to know you understand as i understand you too. It is a difficult concept to grasp and sometimes i find myself looking at my body and thinking “who is that woman staring back at me?” xxx

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