The Day Replayed

“If not millions, if not thousands, if not hundreds, if not even ten…” she prays, “…one God, let the words in this poem at least help one.”

•••

She dropped to the ground, like the cover of an innocent’s veil on a wedding day.

This moment weighs heavy and her mind has held this day on replay.

At first only she could tell, but slowly others started to notice.

Towards God she was unfocused, towards the darkness she was the closest, and if you couldn’t guess- she was completely at her lowest.

My guess is, she finally had enough. I don’t blame her, look what you’ve done- you spoke and treated her like she was bullet proof, but maybe that was your plan all along… and now you’re happy to see that she’s not so tough while her will is not only tied up but locked in short chained cuffs.

Before her body was even fully developed, her tear ducts and muscles were in the form of scar tissue. Now, not only is her view of the world misconstrued, but she carries the pain through life while believing she’s devalued.

She walks around with blades of shame stabbed in her back… as if she needs any more of her discomfort and peace to lack.

Maybe if she was older or stronger when it happened… she could have fought back.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” …She was forced to live in fear like a dog who was once a stray. Everything had to be his way, even how she was suppose to pray… it’s no wonder why who she was had already begun to decay. If only it could have been God taking her life to Heaven, instead of him in the doorway.

“You’re an overcomer” people would say, but in reality, she just learned how to block the painful memories and push them all away.

If only they knew how her voice was a prisoner of war, threatened and trained to obey. Her hands wrapped around her neck, gasping for air while she choked and suffocated on the words trapped in her constricted airway.

As if being of service and silent, was her only purpose and assignment. She continued to hide her face in embarrassment and just surrendered to staying quiet.

She’s got open wounded bite marks on her lips from words never spoken. Out of all the little girls, she was targeted and chosen. I guess not everyone is born with a golden token, especially her, she’ll have to learn to live half alive and nearly broken.

The one time she did try to speak up, her head ended up on a coffee table, where she was falsely accused of being immature and a liar. So even though very young, she grew imprisoned and tired.

They say, “tomorrow is a new day,” but honestly, every new day drifted her further and further away.

Craving the old days when she portrayed strength, even if it was fake, because anything is better than feeling like human prey. Now she’s weak and listens to the voices who degrade, downplay and betray.

She didn’t realize how strong she had been until she saw all that she was carrying. She spent more time worrying and burying her pain, rather than facing it and overcoming.

Kids are taught to be thankful for what they’re given, never to talk back nor voice their opinion. Deep inside she knew what happened to her was wrong and act of sin. She spent her childhood longing for truth and someone who was genuine, but until then, she was shoved into submission, handing her life over to someone who misused his position.

She dropped to the ground, like the cover of an innocent’s veil on a wedding day.

This moment weighs heavy and her mind has held this day on replay.

The day she was deceived and let manipulation win. The bathtub is where she ran, doing her best to wash off her skin. Feeling filthy, confused and hopeless like an abused victim’s twin.

Scars and feelings would linger but they were pushed into a corner, intimidated by a scolding finger.

A neighborhood labeled as “safe for kids to play,” an advanced placement test in elementary school, and all because he had one too many beers….a secret she kept for nearly 13 years, now comes out not in words… but only in tears.

She kept it a secret so no one would have a clue. Her neighbor, her teacher and a family member too. “God, why me, what did I do?!” The memories of what happened can never be undone, but now thousands if not a million voices are speaking the words…

“me too.”

Misplaced scrambled words, using a shovel to uncover the truth of what happened during her youth.

Words are coming out, but nothing is making sense. It’s been guarded for so long by an electric shock fence, never wanting to relive it in front of the judge nor department of defense.

Even now while writing this out, has got her thinking, “maybe it was my fault?” Her entire being filled with so much doubt.

The storage where her questions, grace, forgiveness and truth were locked up and silenced, are now gripping at the bite from being malnourished. She somehow found the hidden key to unlock it and felt somewhat encouraged.

Her story she told, not all, but some. Enough to release and free the little girl from the bathtub where she constantly scrubbed her skin until she was red and numb.

The truth is out and she found some answers….It was not her fault, she is not alone, she is not what has been done to her and the past doesn’t have to affect her like a cancer.

Once available for the steal and questioning what was real, her soul now rests under God’s protection seal and day by day Jesus heals.

Soft, but also bold, brave and strong- a freed prisoner of war. She is learning to trust herself again deep within her very core.

She dropped to the ground, like a believer’s knees praying and worshipping on a Sunday.

This moment weighs heavy and her mind has held this day on replay.

The day she made the choice, to use her voice. Now a thousand angels are by her side praising, loving and comforting her… like a choir full of hope and rejoice.

The enemy tried from the start to target her and pull her apart, but all he did was provide more pieces for God’s masterpiece and work of art. Her lips once scabbed with bite marks, now replaced with a kiss of heaven, as she learned to speak honestly, vulnerably and courageously from her heart.

In God she trusts, even through an act of unjust. Through forgiveness and faith she lives, and still above all, chooses love over hate to give.

Even though her day of rescue was way overdue, I believe it was a warrior that God was molding her into. Her true identity is found in jesus Christ, not the scars behind the words of “me too.”

She dropped to the ground, like a believer’s knees praying and worshipping on a Sunday.

This moment weighs heavy and her mind has held this day on replay.

At first only she could tell, but slowly others started to notice.

Towards God she was focused, towards the light she was the closest, and if you couldn’t guess- she was now weightless and completely at her purest.

•••

“If not millions, if not thousands, if not hundreds, if not even ten…” she prays, “…one God, let the words in this poem at least help one. Help one from coming undone and reaching to end their life by the quick trigger of a gun. Help one know that their past and whoever hurt them hasn’t won, but rather God has, the father of Jesus Christ the living son. It’s in His name I pray, full of faith, that peace and healing has already begun. Your promises be fulfilled and your will be done, Amen.”
❤️, Kristan Ann

#metoo

 

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