Walking home

My heart thump-thumps along with the heels I try to make sound heavy, threatening.


I clutch my keys with jagged teeth poking out, and twist my neck every half minute, peering into


I breathe too quickly to be from Trendy Shoreditch. A dark road is my challenge. I am not brave

anymore. The bravery was stupid, arrogant.

I miss it.

  1. #1 by Me on October 21, 2010 - 4:24 pm

    So do I.

  2. #2 by Anon on January 9, 2011 - 1:46 am

    Some of my poems:

    Can you see,
    Inside my eyes?
    Can you see,
    All my hidden lies?

    Do you know,
    The pain that lies within?
    Do you know,
    My soul is dark with sin?

    Have you heard,
    My quiet cries at night?
    Have you heard,
    I’ve given up the fight?

    Can you feel,
    My tremble at a touch?
    Can you feel,
    That this is all too much?

    Can you smell,
    My fear when a man is too near?
    Can you smell,
    My wish to disappear?

    Can you sense,
    My fear at being alone?
    Can you sense,
    That I hate the unknown?

    Do you know how afraid I am?
    Do you know how much I hide inside?
    Do you know that I have slowly died?

    His hands groping,
    Feeling all over my body
    I can’t escape.
    Oh God, why me?

    His hands; they’re everywhere.
    A tear rolls down my cheek
    He laughs,
    He knows I’m meek.

    His breath, heavy on my face
    I close my eyes, try to keep it out.
    There’s nothing I can do,
    Can’t even shout.

    He’s too strong,
    He’ll hurt me if I fight.
    He says that if he wants,
    He can do this all night.

    He forces my hands, my mouth, on him,
    Ignores my pleas.
    Laughs again, his hands touching,
    Sliding above my knees.

    Finally, he’s stopped, it’s over.
    But I have to live with it every day.
    No amount of showers can wash the dirt away,
    The fear disgust and shame is here to stay

    I want to be safe
    I want to be naïve
    I want these awful memories
    To leave

    I don’t want to be scared
    I don’t want to be a victim
    I just want
    To forget him

    Always wary, always on edge
    Wondering about the next threat
    Oh God, why,
    Why can’t I forget?

    I want to move on
    I want to be free
    I want to get back
    The old me

    His evil glares
    Memories that won’t cease.
    Never at peace.

    The blood ran down his fingers
    The pain as he broke my hymen
    I did not cry, I did not fight
    He just confirmed what I knew about men

    They take what they want
    There is no point in arguing
    No point in resisting
    They will always win

    I still hear the music
    As he took what was mine
    I didn’t fight
    Was it a crime?

    I can feel his breath
    Hot on my face
    His breathing quickens
    I try to hide my disgrace

    But something has changed
    I am angry
    He did not have the right
    To do that to me

    His words, always in my mind
    “Suck it like a lollipop”
    But I am stronger
    I won’t give up

    “How deep can you take it”
    I will always hear his voice
    But I will not surrender
    I now have a choice

    “I’m a real man”
    In my dreams, I am now fighting
    I don’t let it happen
    I don’t let him win

    I am growing stronger
    I am fighting back
    I have the courage
    I used to lack

    He found me when I was weak
    A little girl, desperate for a friend
    He took advantage
    He was grooming, wanting the end

    He didn’t have the right
    To do what he did that night
    I am finally seeing
    Finally, it has started: healing.

    • #3 by ivebeenstrippedbythis on February 10, 2011 - 12:06 am

      Such powerful words, thank you for sharing them!

      I find poetry such an effective way to access feelings that are difficult to express, at least in any kind of regular form. It’s pretty rare that I am inspired to write my own (pitifully bad) poetry, but I love to read the work of others who are more talented. Two of my favourites that spring to mind:


      Clear moments are so short.
      There is much more darkness. More
      ocean than firm land. More
      shadow than form.
      — Adam Zagahewski

      The Peace of Wild Things
      When despair for the world grows in me
      and I wake in the night at the least sound
      in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
      I go and lie down where the wood drake
      rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
      I come into the peace of wild things
      who do not tax their lives with forethought
      of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
      And I feel above me the day – blind stars
      waiting with their light. For a time
      I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
      — Wendell Berry

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