Poem

When I found out that I could get help
I was so relieved that I cried and yelped
At last!
I’d be taken seriously.
I could put an end to this life of disease.
I just couldn’t wait to be free
Of the darkness plaguing me
And go to a place that I could be
A teary mess, a tragedy.
Somewhere I could have a cup of tea
With no worried looks of expectancy.
Professionals that’d help for free.
Someone to listen, somewhere to flee.
I’d maybe even learn some CBT
Or ask for a helpful worksheet

But these were dreams, pure fantasy

When I was told of the waiting list
I was sure I wouldn’t make it.

Phone calls and flashbacks
Numbness and panic attacks.
Dark meetings, not sleeping
Unpredictable weeping.
Welling at work, unnoticeably tender
Can’t make rent so relying on lenders
Teeth ground down, getting ever slender
Avoiding all media, afraid for my gender
No love, no hope, a hollow pretender
Alone, in a nightmare, no sign of my friends here.

Saving up drugs for one last bender
In case I just couldn’t stand it any longer
When my only choice left is to surrender

My life

My strife

I give it all up.

After all,
It’s not me that’s failed
I’ve been utterly derailed
By a draconian system
That re-made me a victim,
An unwilling contender.
It’s so fucked up
I felt sorry for my offender!

But not as much as the people still waiting in queues
With no hope and no help
And no strength to pull through
The gruesome mess
That’s labelled justice.
What a terrible process
That makes those who’ve suppressed
Feel lost, weak and hopeless,
Left dangerously depressed
With mounting distress.

Left

To navigate the unknown
To pick up the phone
To investigate their own trauma.
How can we condone?
That most rapists walk free
While so many women must accept defeat
Because their evidence isn’t concrete
Or their story’s not complete.
It’s the victims who feel the heat
And we can’t even stand on our feet!
The system favours deceit
And the criminals know it.
Again, I could greet…

And I have

For my pain and theirs
Our sorrow is shared
One in four women has been deathly scared.
And since justice is spared
How can they possibly repair?
All that they were and learn self-care
To put an end to their nightmares
And quit worrying about stares
Or not be ashamed to wear
A tight dress, a smile, or a glare
And regrow their hair
And forgive their skin.
Not to mention, re-learn to share
Their body
Their thoughts
Their isolation
After the desolation
Of their whole world
And everything within.

To find a cure for feeling like poison
To all that they touch, even their closest kin.

That’s where Rape Crisis Centres come in.
They can start you believing
That it’s NOT your fault,
That you’re not the reason.
They’ll try to keep you breathing
When your spirit is reeling
With all the hurdles of healing
And they’ll help you in dealing
With the minefield of revealing
The crimes against you that you’ve been concealing.

They understand your feelings.

Please know that
You deserve to win
Back who you were
Before the chagrin.
You can learn self-love
And respect your decisions
You can move forward
And trust your instinct within.

Sam