Images

Images
branded into my memory,
hot with pain and guilt and hurt.

Images
flashing constantly
inside my head.

His greedy hands
touching me, feeling me,
wanting more, more, more.

Slithering up my thighs,
creeping down my back,
ricocheting fear through my being.

Images
of locked doors,
bolted windows, and closed shutters.

Remembrance of hot panic that
hijacked my soul
as the lights flickered off.

Images, images, images
boiling inside of me,
dying to be freed,

to be told, unleashed,
because I can't keep it a secret
any longer.

My words cut through
years of pain,
drunken, endless nights of

suffering and abuse, of
pain and guilt and hurt.
Pain, pain, pain that never ends.

I was surprised when others told me
they have gone through
the same.

I see images
similar to mine.
Images of

their father, brother, teacher
using them, hurting them.
Images of

the hands that cease to touch,
the consuming fear,
the guilt...

But I also see images of
healing, of escape, of
a better future.

I hold onto these images
as strength to persevere,
as a promise that life will get better.

It is not my fault.
I am not broken.
I have survived.