Poetry
Related: About this forumI've written so much but fell behind with sharing!
This is completely true, but looking back at my feelings in those surrounding years and finally trying to put it into words. I did say to someone in the hospital (doctor, nurse, police…all a blur), “There are worse things than being dead.” I repeated it often. Wanted it to sound kind of like a heartbeat. I hope it’s not redundant. So here is what I have. And I’ll try to catch up with others. This one is VERY long…
Worse Things
I walked through the trees
And the honeysuckle bees
And believed that I was really living
We’d been trained to accept
What others might reject
And we took a vow of forgiving
The night wind cooled me
The starry skies fooled me
I was there just to do my calling
When the doorbell rang
That familiar sound
Down narrow steps I walked without falling
But I fell
Dear God,
to the depths of hell
That shiny silver blade
With precise and viscous cuts
Left bloody marks
And they will never fade
But they certainly weren’t
The only scars that were made
There are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
My God, can’t you see this dread
Can’t you read between the lines that you read
There are worse things
There are worse things
For the love of God
There are worse things
Than being dead
And I asked every night
Before I went to bed
Why?
Why didn’t he leave me dead?
Why’d he leave me
To walk in misery
instead?
Now years have gone by
Can’t remember how to cry
Except for others who’ve felt this pain
We didn’t have a choice
They still won’t hear our voice
Roll their eyes as they say it’s a shame
The night wind heals me
The starry skies feel me
They know that I’m still trying
And every single footstep
Reminds me of a misstep
A life I try to live without lying
But I lie
Dear God,
Cause I wished that you would die
That sharp silver blade
Yeah it cuts both ways
And maybe I’d remember how to cry
Your own ending might teach me how to try
There are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
My God, can’t you see the disgrace
There are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
Than staring into the devil’s face
Can’t you see it in my eyes that I’m gone
A role in a play that’s always on
There are worse things
There are worse things
For the love of God
There are worse things
Than faking being strong
And living far too long
And he left me
Bleeding freely
And to this day
I ask why instead
Did he let me live
And my answer
My only answer
was that he, too
Even he knew
There are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
Than being dead
Because so many times
I’ve wished that his crime
Would have left me dead
My veins were dripping
My life was slipping…. away
But he let me stay
Wish he’d left me dead
Instead
Cause there are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
Please, God, let them hear what I’ve said
There are worse things
There are worse things
There are worse things
Than being dead

lillypaddle
(9,605 posts)What a nightmare you have been through. I'm guessing that your poem was cathartic, but painful to write. All of that being said, you write beautifully, and with great expression. My favorite poems are those that go beneath the surface, and bravely convey our innermost thoughts and worries. Many people skirt the real issues for fear of being too vulnerable - but you sure didn't with this poem.
I hope you have continued healing, but we both know it will never, ever go completely away. Thank you for trusting us enough to share.
Oh, and by the way, did I say how much I liked your writing?
Tucker08087
(621 posts)I wanted to express my feelings back then, but also the shame and disgrace that society and the courts SHOULD feel with how little they care about women who have been assaulted. I was 19. It did just about do me in, but there was DNA and eventually I testified. 4 of us did. There were others who couldn’t bring themselves to do so. it helped, but for the 4 of us, he was sentenced to 3 1/2 years and got out early for “good behavior.” Of course, he raped again, and went back to jail, but that’s little solace to the young women who suffered because he was let out.
And just last night, a friend told me that I shouldn’t allow myself to go back to painful memories to write. It’s exhausting and emotional. I often cry as I write. I said that, only through that trip down the rabbit hole of time, can I do my best work. The pieces with honest, raw emotion are always the pieces that are loved the most.
But this time, I think I may have finally been able to shed that demon through writing this.
Thanks again. I know you didn’t need me to write a novel in response. 🥰
lillypaddle
(9,605 posts)Your friend sounds well meaning, but sometimes we need to go back in order to move forward. I cannot even imagine the horror of your experience. If it feels right to express it openly, then by all means do it. And you have. I don't know you, but I feel very proud to have shared in your poem and even your pain.
Keep writing! Keep healing.