Before you start reading- this post contains sexual abuse, physical abuse and swearing.


Via Abuse Talk I have been sent this poem which has had permission to be published but kept anonymous. I always feel different material should be shared because it belongs to that person’s feelings and will connect with others in a different way. I am sure some of you will be able to relate to this poem, if you need any support do seek it. I also want to thank the person who has written this for coming forward and sharing it, it is not an easy task to share something as raw and personal as this.

Together we are Louder

This poem has been written to help people understand what it’s like to be raped and it’s aftermath. 

This hole – it never leaves me

Like my trusted friend 

Gaping and bloody it just sits there gaping and bloody – bloody and gaping

I look at my wound and think why don’t you heal? 

But it just doesn’t. It just is there. 

I try to stuff it full – full of work and life and I even talk about it sometimes in the hope that it may reduce in size 

But it won’t – it’s like a stoma right through my fucking heart and mind

I try to logic that time will form some kind of seal across it so I don’t have to look at it and some days I even make myself believe that to be true 

But then wham – it just appears as large and gaping and bloody as the day it was obliterated into me

Fleeting thoughts of if I didn’t exist this hole wouldn’t exist 

Is there a purpose for it? Scars we hear can be beautiful 

But not mine – mine is huge and gaping and bloody oh so bloody. 

Like a multiple stab wound that’s been ripped apart through the holes – the edges flapping ugly as they gape 

I wonder if he feels the same? I doubt it as he was the one that’s created it? 

Does he feel remorse? Does he see the damage he’s done? I’m not me anymore – I don’t know who the fuck I am? Like a puppeteer with a fancy dress facade making out like I’m still her but she died when you obliterated me forever 

Please let this hole go away

I don’t want it – I never asked for it

Why did he do this to me

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