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Poems

Poems have always played a huge part in healing; or moving forward. Either read by survivors to provide inspiration; or written by survivors, as an emotional release.

Our newsletter includes poetry; and we encourage our members to submit items for the newsletter; or for us to include on our display board (internally or at public events).

The content, written by a survivor, moves with them along their journey – evolving and changing. It can sometimes feel, when rereading items written some years ago, as if it was by a different person ‘did I really write that?’ – here are some examples:

 

Integration

Integration happens at night

Memory and feelings unite

in the dark shadow of

drifting light, as day drifts into night.

No need to recall

the memory is clear

previous, elusive, feelings

clamour to be near.

Interrupting the calm of knowing

but not feeling

until my nerves become

stretched to breaking.

Terror, child like fear

irrational and uncontrolled

no recognition of the passing years

of then - is now - again.

Awake sweating, feeling the touch

of his hot clammy hands upon

my breasts, thighs, secret places

hot breath, smelling of whisky

whispering foul into my ear.

Tears, silently falling

like acid running down

my cheeks

eyes sore, red rimmed

silent witness

to my pain, endured.

Years, days, hours - then, now

is it a dream of the future

from a child

or of the past, as an adult

integration happens at night.

Invading my peace

allowing no sleep

only restless tossing

turning, weeping.

Integration happens at night

recognising now, the childs plight

of years.

Courage, reality, the price is high.

The cost is heavy.

(Gillian - Written 1994)

How Could You?

How could you

Rape me,

Abuse me,

Deny me my innocence ?

Smug look, knowing smile,

Taunting me,

As I grow from child to woman.

Secret safe, power game,

Waiting for the next generation

To play this game.

Not me, not mine.

I cannot capture

The power to confront you openly

But score points in any way I can.

Deny the children

None are borne.

Safe is the unborn,

No energy wasted in watching,

The safety of any child of mine.

(Gillian - Written 1996)

Friends Lost

Friends Lost

Faces turned away

The truth too difficult to hear

Perhaps own secrets locked

Not wanting to disturb

Eyes cast away, not meeting mine

Shuffling feet, moving body away

From mine, for fear of

Contamination, of being too close

Lest the stigma will stick.

Friends gained

Nodding heads

Hands reaching out to clasp

My shaking hands

Empathy, respect, Belief.

Courage to disclose

Courage to accept the truth

Me as i am now and then

Friends support and with that

Strength. I move on.

(Gillian - Written 1996)

Because it does.

It matters, because you stole what was

Only mine to give

To the right person

At the right time.

It matters, because

You hurt me, not just physically

But emotionally too.

It matters because what you did to me,

Affected how I saw myself

And how others saw me too.

It matters because of what I was denied

Then and now.

It matters – and don’t let anyone,

Least of all you

Think that it doesn’t.

It matters that today

Children are still unseen and unheard &

That Judges and the law of the land

Blame them for what others

Have done, to them.

It MATTERS – and it always will!

(Gillian - Written 2009)

It takes time

For us to speak

It takes time

For us to trust

You

Us

Society

It takes time

For you to understand

To appreciate

The fragility of a child

A child that is powerless

Despite what YOU say

What you think

Children are unable to stop abuse

Only you can do that

The adult survivor

The friend

The parent

The neice

The neighbor

The work colleague

The teacher

The doctor

The person

Who stands and sees

And before, turn away from the truth,

It takes you, and us, to stop the abuse

(Gillian - Written 2016)

Now – there are no longer 100s

Now – there are 1000s

Of survivors

Speaking out

Being heard

The tsunami of change

Is upon us

It is full of voices

New ones

And

Those that

Are decades old

Still saying

This is our truth

This is the truth of children,

Still

Today

Please help them

Please help us

Voices – echoing across the land

Though not always in harmony

And sometimes

Abusive

But

Still

Voices – echoing across the land

(Gillian - Written 2017)