Poetry Page

Poems that Related to Healing From Sexual Violence

(incest, child sexual abuse, sexual assault, clergy sexual abuse, professional sexual misconduct)

Networking and Self-Help Groups for the Awareness Center This link will bring you to a list of different mailing lists offered by The Awareness Center. We offers several different email groups,which include our general mailing list, press-releases, Jewish survivors of childhood sexual abuse, Jewish Survivors of Clergy Abuse (by Rabbis and Cantors), Parents of children who were molested, Family members of sex offenders, etc.

Table of Contents:  

1. Poetry

   • Breathing Truth - by Briana

   • The Old Survivor by the Sea - by Belinda Martinez

http://www.truthsong.net

One day, after months or years,

when the pain of not believing your own body

grows worse than your fear of the truth,

you'll name it in a safe place where no one can hear...

incest.

You'll say it again, "incest"

and think "insect" --

Still, it can stick in your throat,

it can stop your breath.

You'll try "rape" --

"He raped me."

Rape--shape--drape:

another useless word.

Still, you'll need to say it,

you'll need to breathe it.

Perhaps, in time,

you'll add your voice to the others

who are naming, the others who are breathing the truth

You'll finally know...

you're not crazy...

someone hurt you.

When people tell you you're sick,

call you a liar,

turn you out of their hearts,

their lives...

keep breathing...

keep naming.

When their lies blare

inside your head so loud

you think you'd rather be dead...

keep breathing...

keep naming.

When the ache of your longing

for a different past

brings back your own

deluge of doubt,

keep breathing...

keep naming.

You're not alone. You do know.

Breathe...trust..

Breathe...trust...

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by Belinda Martinez

I saw an old man by the seaside.

He was fishing off the end of a pier.

I asked what he hoped to be catching.

He answered, "I got it. You're here."

He handled his pole like an expert.

His motion was graceful and free.

He reeled in his line, less the sinker.

And handed it over to me.

"I know nothing of fishing," I told him.

"I came to the sea to escape."

He blinked back his tears as he nodded.

"I too, was a victim of rape."

The silence that followed was welcome.

I stood there with nothing to say.

I clung to the pole, though still shaken.

The stranger explained it this way:

"I know that it's tough just surviving

Abuses and moral decay.

And try as we might to escape them,

It's best if we cast them away.

"So I came to the sea as a young boy,

Determined to end it all here.

But I could not jump into the water.

A survivor was out on the pier.

"He taught me to tie up my sorrows

And raise the pole back in the air.

He showed me how casting and fishing

Can be healing and holy, like prayer.

"His line soared out over the water.

The sinker he used was my hate.

And tying a knot for assurance,

He added my tears as the bait.

"He gave me his pole, that survivor,

And trusted that I would remain.

He turned then, and left me alone there,

Just casting away all my pain.

"It took me a long time to notice,

Or maybe I just failed to look,

But the hate and the grief I had tied on

Were somehow removed from the hook.

"So now you have come to relieve me.

It's your turn with this rod and reel.

Just practice your tying and casting,

That you might help someone else heal.

We learn what we can when we're mentored.

And the old man taught healing to me.

Now it's my turn to wait by the seaside,

For someone with more hurt than me.

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Last Updated:  05/05/2003

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