You raped the innocence of a child.
You shattered her faith and trust in others.
You plundered her soul and left a dark, gaping hole.

Once was not sufficient.
You had to exert your power, your control.
You had to mold her into docile compliance to your whims and wishes.

You failed to recognize the blue-gold fires flashing in her eyes.
You may have dominated her small, fragile body,
but you failed to break her will.

Summoning courage from deep within,
she fled to seek an asylum from her agony.
You searched for her, stalking her,
bearing your vile trinkets and gaudy baubles
in a futile attempt at bribery.
Trying to win her back, or at least buy her silence.

Silent she was, and she always remained.
Not because of your base frippery,
but because of the terror bound up inside.

You were her Lucifer,
bright, shining, charming,
most beautiful of all her guardians.
What she thought were sheltering arms and protecting wings
were violent limbs operating under the power of a torturous psyche.

You were her betrayer.

Time may heal all wounds,
but that which has been severed, scorched, torn and tattered,
will never be made the same.

Surviving you made her stronger,
created in her the ability to face all obstacles with resolve,
choking back the fear and uncertainty that was lying just beneath the surface.

Today she confronts the ultimate barrier that restrains her putting past pains behind her.
She stands before the cold, dark granite that marks the earth holding your pathetic, putrefying flesh.
You are powerless to harm her or anyone ever again.

The bile rises in her throat.
The blue flames smolder once more.
The anger boils over and she rails against Death for encumbering her greatest triumph. facing you, her dark nemesis.

The fragile, battered, injured child perishes, buried alongside of you.
She places a solitary bloom for the innocence stolen and the shattered trusts of a child.

Conquering her greatest fear, her darkest memories,
the metamorphosis is complete.
The child fades away,
the woman emerges.
I emerge from the shadows and ashes of that half-lived life.

You never won.
You were never the victor despite your spoils.
The final triumph was hers, is mine.

10/26/2000

Author's Note: This poem is based on my own personal battle dealing with molestation, at a time when it was something that wasn't talked about, and getting counseling for such a trauma was virtually unkown. It took me many years to cope with this trauma on my own. If you are a victim, or know someone who has been a victim, please know that there is help available today. I encourage you to seek out help and counseling to deal with your trauma.

Posted on 10/26/2001
Copyright © 2024 Cathlyn Cartier