Metamorphosis (Spread thy wings)

***high trigger content, abuse topic***

Memories, bullets leaving the barrel
no sound but the orange spuirt, vivid
like I was standing looking down it again
back there
Don't know if it's disassociation from my trauma...
or that I've grown to know I was a victim then but not anymore, that like a butterfly
full metamorphosis
Young, wreckless, wild
a child high and drunk, but sober from fear...
the kind that allowed me to fight
til that, like my innocence was stolen to
A group approached, hands pinning me against a wall, hands wondering all over me
kisses forced, stale ciggerettes and alcohol
(so powerful, I can describe it)
laughter, it was (I was) a joke to them,
fair game, meat on a rack in an open market,
except here it seemed acceptable to 'try before you buy'
Darkness, the night, once a sweet friend... no cover here this moment...
A cop car drove past, 3 streets away
they didn't see us, but they saw them
that was enough for them to discard me and run...
Still feel the tears, see myself trembling
I'm watching this as I'm retelling it, that child, so helpless, so scared, numb... I'm numb
A 'good samaritan' passes by, said he witnessed it all, said let him help
I let him be my feet, let him lead...
hang on, this alley is a dead end, there's no cop shop here, just an overpowering smell of rubbish & urine and some street hobo
(who won't leave)
My 'saviour' mutters something and we're moving again
I remember the park, train lines above, Yarra river beside (how fitting that a casino now sits across from this spot...I still remember where this was, but no faces...Nothing except mine)
People pass us by, I try to get their attention
I'm muffled by his embrace...
I'm pushed down on the ground...
he finished off the scrap, discared earlier
(Silent pause)
There's a reason why I wear hardness as a mask...It became a face instead, it had to...
or I wouldn't have survived
There's a reason why it's important to acknowledge my growth, why life deserves to be purposeful and cherished...
For that little girl I once was, for the child I lost through that
For any other lost human, who needs someone to assist them to find their voice,
to cast off the shackles of guilt and shame...
that feels so overwhelming, so heavy sometimes
but isn't mine (or their's)
It's still a scar, the wound healed but still there
I'm not my experiences, they are apart of my story but they are not what defines me
I'm not afraid to be this vulnerable and raw in my truth (just not to the world sometimes)...
that's why I still hide my true self, at times,
that softness, a belief in humanity still having goodness flowing through it...
in myself

freeflowpoet