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SBR - Creative Exorcise

 
 
Papess
02:18 / 05.04.07
While a discussion on abuse and surviving abuse may not be viable at this time, perhaps we can have less analytical, yet valuable discourse through various artistic mediums. Any works, be it visual, literary, musical, etc...created to exorcise the "demons" of abuse, and/or to celebrate surviving through abuse, would be a welcome contribution to this thread.

It is very important to be sensitive to others, especially so, in this thread. Probably, it is best not to criticize here, and just simply grok the content.


I shall start:

This is a poem I wrote at the age of thirteen while in a mental hospital, after having attempted suicide.


The Monster

I do not know,
What is inside of me,
It's like a big monster,
Fighting to get free.

I tried to deny him,
And push him aside,
But there was no way,
He'd be quiet and hide.

I tried to deny,
His very existence,
But his presence was there,
With undying persistence.

I don't understand why,
It's me that he haunts,
I just wish he'd stop raping,
All of my thoughts.

I might die in this place,
But that's just as well,
I probably deserve,
This state they call Hell.
 
 
Papess
10:42 / 05.04.07
For myself, putting my own pain into artwork is just part of my healing process.

I think it is important for people to realize that revealing details is not necessary here. There is a certain risk that comes with that, which some of you may not wish to take, and that is completely understandable.

I have shown this to Barbelith before, but it certainly belongs here...



This one isn't worksafe.
 
 
Glenn Close But No Cigar
17:07 / 09.04.07
Bumped in the hope that this thread is useful to whoever posts in it / reads it.

Justrix, thanks for beginning this one.
 
 
Princess
19:44 / 09.04.07
I'd also like to mention, for similar reasons, that there is an anonymous posting option available to those who would want it.
 
 
Papess
15:03 / 10.04.07
Thank you, Aleph and Princess for your support on this.
 
 
Papess
14:19 / 12.04.07
For Ana:

Where did you go, my sister?
In pools of blood
And toxic drugs
It was all too much
For you, my sister

Where did you go, my sister?
With messed up hair
And your hollow stare
Like playing dead
In your father's bed
My sister

And again his little death
His little death
Little death of Ana
And why not?
He had another
Just like her

Wherever you've gone, my sister
With hopeful heart
A brand new start
To live again
My sister


This is for a friend of mine when I was a teenager.
She had a twin, but her father only sexually assaulted her, like some personal twist on Sophie's Choice. I haven't seen her in years, but I had a dream of her grave site a few years back, that disturbed me greatly. I miss her.
 
 
Haloquin
20:12 / 13.04.07
I'd like to express my support for this space. Thank you Justrix.
 
 
*
06:20 / 14.04.07
Brings up a question I have: How would you like for folks who may not have had experiences like this, or who don't wish to share if they have, to respond? I am inclined to stay silent or post occasional check-ins to say I'm reading, but nothing more affective.
 
 
Papess
14:47 / 14.04.07
Thanks Haloquin!

Id: I don't think it is necessary to have experienced abuse personally, to contribute to this thread. I think that even people who do not have this experience can have outrage or sadness at abuse. Given the stats on this, it more likely that people lives have been touched by some kind of abuse, even if it was listening to a friend's account that evoked a response, one's own recollections, or the feelings of helplessness that sometimes friends of survivors have.

Maybe I should change the summary? Any suggestions you have id, would greatly appreciated.
 
 
Papess
23:55 / 12.07.07
Tosser

I am a human box of tissues
Wipe away your tears
Maybe I am just a small comfort
But you can leave your vile fluids on me
Maybe you will feel better

You will be happy again for a while
You will toss me aside
Pull another tissue out of my box
Comfort yourself, in your time of need

Use me over and over
Till this box runs dry
Discard box, buy another one
While I get trashed
 
 
Papess
00:34 / 13.07.07
Black Out

Have another drink
She is still, frozen in time
Unable to grow up

Have another drink
She must reenact the crime
Cannot leave that time

Have another drink
Repeat again and again
'Till she gets revenge

Have another drink
This time will be different
This time you will pay

Have another drink
It makes her think that she can
Go back and kill them

Again and again
Another drink for revenge
No more a virgin
 
 
Papess
19:27 / 27.09.07
From the Blue Ribbon Against Child Abuse:


Sarah

My name is Sarah
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,

I must be stupid,
I must be bad,
What else could have made
My daddy so mad?

I wish I were better,
I wish I weren't ugly,
Then maybe my Mummy
Would still want to hug me.

I can't speak at all,
I can't do a wrong
Or else I'm locked up
All the day long.

When I awake I'm all alone
The house is dark
My folks aren't home.

When my Mummy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight.

Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car
My daddy is back
From Charlie's Bar.

I hear him curse
My name he calls
I press myself
Against the wall.

I try and hide
From his evil eyes
I'm so afraid now
I'm starting to cry.

He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.

He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.

He's already locked it
And I start to bawl,
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor
With my bones nearly broken,
And my daddy continues
With more bad words spoken.

"I'm sorry!" I scream
But its now much too late
His face has been twisted
Into unimaginable hate.

The hurt and the pain
Again and again
Oh please God, have mercy!
Oh please let it end!

And he finally stops
And heads for the door,
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor.

My name is Sarah
And I am but three,
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me.


Thanks to my cousin in Malta for sending this to me.
 
 
Jawsus-son Starship
09:21 / 30.09.07
This is reprinted with the authorisation of the author, a close friend.

At last, at long last.

By Virginia Waters, I saw a lad,
larking with mother, dancing,
his laugh stretching across the lake.
I fell the urge to cry.

Summers in the forest,
running with friends.
Keeping quiete in the dark,
the innocence I feel I've lost.
 
  
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