Who Am I

Who Am I?

I am a victim of rage

Neglected, bruised and broken
The sour smell of fear induced sweat
The tightness in my chest
The rolling of my stomach
The pungent smell of urine permeating the room

I am a survivor of abuse
Her boyfriend’s touch hurts
My small body stretches
Probing fingers, rough hands, grabbing…
Piercing pain, red hot

This is my worth

A lesson well taught
This is what men want, all I am good for
A belief, a lie I would let define me

I am the result of promiscuity

She does no more than bend over and lift her skirt
An ingrained belief she couldn’t say no
This is her worth
A lesson my mother also learned well

A volunteer of self-loathing, self-pity, self-obsession

Blessed numbness in the bottom of a bottle
Emotional regulation in a pill
A drug addict dominated by self-centered fear

My bottom had a trap door

Disillusion, degradation and near death
A criminal without a record
Champion of the untouchables

I am a woman but far from a lady

A Buddhist with a belief in God
A practicing Buddhist, not the bookstore variety
A student of life, forever teachable
Forever lost and trying to find myself
This is who I am