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I loved him.
His brown eyes and large hands
that held me too tight sometimes
His wanting that would turn me to stone
and the cold I felt when he held me – I loved him.
It wasn’t uncommon
when a loud and resounding ‘no’
clawed its way up my throat
but sound failed at my lips
my hands shaking too hard
to grasp the steering wheel of control
my mind reeling too fast
to differentiate right from wrong
and the only echo of refusal
screaming in my wide and frightened eyes
but left unnoticed
by lustful hands.
I kept telling myself I loved him
for far too long, I’m afraid
That I’d give anything to keep him happy
Little knowing, my dignity
and self respect
were part of the package.
In the last stages
of an abusive relationship
I fought to break free
And freedom I found
Too familiar with the fact that
refusal may have died at my lips
but demons were born within
In the deepest crevices of my being
they reached with dark hands
to claw at my sanity.
I was young and naïve and stupid
I didn’t know
What I should have known.
I never fully comprehended
the depth of sexual coercion
I never fully comprehended
that rape was not just forced
but it was also
what was happening to me
not until the unforgiving chains
of experience pulled at me
dragging me down
trapping me in the cynical darkness of my mind
blaming me for mistakes
I should have known better than to make
Engulfing me in a nothing
That spanned for months
A nothing that I did not know to fight
That did not want to
But regret is a piteous place to dwell in
And the pain from the past is also experience
Though scars run too deep
You must not forget, beauty flows endlessly
Though you were once preyed upon
By insipid vultures
You are strong
You are beautiful
And you will fight to break free
and it’s okay
To say no
It’s okay to refuse to be used
Or abused as a tool
As an object
You’ve got to know, you matter.
And no one’s going to make you
Any less than you are.
Originally published at Inappropriate Commas.
Born in 1995, Aanisha is currently completing her degree in Business Management. With a passion for writing and unrealised dreams of becoming a journalist, she now diverts all her energy and pent up talent into writing little snippets of poetry and prose in her free time. Hoping to publish her own book someday, Aanisha’s writing is all about venting, expression, and freedom of speech. She is also thoroughly allergic to negativity, a food adventurer and a common curly girl.