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The acknowledgement

I’m trying to be gentle with myself, but what if I never believe my body when it tells me what happened?

Revenge of the soul thief

You murdered my son, Abuser. Though breath still trickles out closed lips, he does not live. The twelve years since his disappearance drag by like a sea anchor pulled...

A legacy of abuse: Telling on my brother

A deathbed confession, 1997 Mom unburdens herself only weeks before she dies. She tells me about Mike’s abuse against his children. Her revelations confirm...

When Mom stood by

Detecting abusers is a complex problem. Who is the real villain in the story? As a survivor of childhood sexual, physical, and emotional abuse,...

What needs to be said

What needs to be said that you haven’t yet talked about?” the woman from hospice looked at me. I suspected I knew but remained...

Sporco

You stood there, surrounded.             Sporco.  Sporco.  Sporco. They towered above you. You (a five-year-old child) stood there, surrounded.             Sporco. Sporco.  Sporco. They (adults) towered above you, laughing. You...

Their kind of pretty

Beautiful? Yes, I know I am. Though, it took me years to take such compliments gracefully. Not because I don’t see my own beauty; my own worth. I...

Ghost stories

There's this trick to surviving trauma. You become a ghost. If you leave your body long enough, you can't feel anything. There's no exact...

The children

I used to hoard apples until they were rotten. Green ones, not red. They would stay in the closet until I could no longer eat them,...

Upon watching [place of abuse] burn to the ground

In another dream, in a body not touched by their hands, I bang on the door, scream that there is a fire. But that is not this dream. In...

Recommended Reading

The acknowledgement

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I’m trying to be gentle with myself, but what if I never believe my body when it tells me what happened?

Have the time of your life!*

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*Common side effects may include but are not limited to: harassment, stalking, getting drugged, passing out in...

To the fathers who do not abuse their daughters

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On my street I am witness to the young men who carry the pink-flowered backpacks of little girls, who...