u/EdgeInternational414

a knock at the door

in the maze of my mind
there are many doors;
some are open,
most are shut.

every few years,
i start to hear
a knock
at a new door.
i usually try
to ignore it.

but the knocking,
it gets louder
and louder,
locked doorknob
trying in vain to turn,
wood shaking
with the force
of whatever’s behind.

i don’t want to
open the door.
what if whatever’s behind
is just like last time?

i crumple,
i cry,
it feels as if
the world is ending,
and i hear
one more knock
before the door
opens.

the door opens
to yet another scene
of him and me
in the dark.
it’s always him.

i want to shut the door,
but the little me i see
beneath his body
sees the light
peeking through;

twenty years of living
trapped in the same moment,
with the door tightly shut,
and now, finally,
i hear their silent cries.

i take their tiny hand,
feel their enormous pain,
cry for them,
and bring them with me
into the light.

i wonder,
will i ever get
used to hearing
a knock at the door?

staying power

child rape has
staying power;
i am grown now,
but it is stuck with me,
painted on the walls
of my mind and insides.

it’s with me in the panic
that sets in when
i lie down stiff
in my own bed.

it’s with me in the stories
i tell strangers
when i’m drunk.

it’s with me in the way
i’ve slept with
older latine people
that i know are bad for me.

it’s with me whenever
i gag on my toothbrush.

it’s with me when i cough
and pee a little bit,
because my pelvic floor
is wrecked.

child rape has
staying power;
it sticks more than
a carpenter’s wood glue,
binds like mortar
between the bricks
of my memories.

despite the significant
staying power
of my past,
i persist, because
my joy,
my love,
my resilience,
have staying power too.

my father raped me for years in my early childhood. my memories came back in stages, some are still murky, but some are very explicit and sodomy-forward. i came forward about some of it when i was 16, hoping it could keep my younger siblings safe. over time, it became very clear that my dad’s side of the family doesn’t believe me (aside from my tía). my siblings want nothing to do with me, their mom/ my dad’s ex wife doesn’t want me in their life. this is so hard. i helped raise them as the latine oldest sibling, i really felt like they were my babies, and now they’re growing up without me because i wasn’t willing to stay in touch with my rapist. i didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandpa before he died, because my father was his caretaker. it’s been almost 10 years since i last saw any of my siblings. one of them had a baby, i found out through our tía. is it normal to still be feeling so much grief over the repercussions of coming forward about my abuse?