Sometimes the first step in letting go of the past is standing up to it.
Years after
You took advantage
Of my needy heart
And used child's play
As a way
To assault me;
Years after
You had me pinned
Against the refrigerator door,
Determined to rape me
While your wife
And parents
Slept peacefully
Nearby;
Years after
I stood over your corpse
In its coffin
And assured myself
You were dead,
You still haunt my dreams
And cripple me
As a woman
But...NO MORE!
I have chosen
To take back
What you stole from me
Not once
But over and over again;
And while it's true I can't
Change my past,
I can change
My present,
And with it,
My future.
You are dead.
I am alive!
I have survived, and,
God willing,
I will thrive
As a complete woman,
Scarred, yes,
But whole.
Some deeply felt emotion here that seems like a purging of the past and a release into the future. The title says it all. Things have a way of staying with us, torturing and insinuating themselves into the present. I like the balance your poem has of the wretched past with the hopeful future. John
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Hope you get past it. Best wishes,
Ed