INNER CITY STORIES

The truth I hold took years to expose.

I kept it locked up, and never told.

I feel so ashamed, so weak.

I cry and wish someone had heard my shrieks.

Still in my mind echoes the question,

I could have done something

I should have done something

But what could I have done?

I mean, He weighed a ton,

Pressing me down against the cold hard ground.

I should have been stronger, faster, or merely loud.

Maybe if I hadn’t worn shorts, or stayed out late.

Or if being a monster wasn’t just another fucking human trait.

Of course, I was thankful to be alive,

Until the nightmares began to arrive.

They don’t stop. I try to think of different ways I could have fought.

This somehow being my fault consumes my every thought.

Each night I lie awake, knowing when I close my eyes, He’ll be there.

My childhood dreams, once filled with wonder, have all disappeared

Only to be replaced by this recurrent nightmare.

I reimagine his cold, dark eyes piercing the dim light,

The way He held my wrists, so cruel, so tight.

I felt my tears flow with every thrust.

Yet somehow He still managed to be consumed with lust.

How I wonder if He thinks about that night like I do,

If He remembers, regrets, or ever admits the truth.

Maybe, like me, He hopes denial will change the facts,

Or maybe he continues ruining lives with his barbaric attacks.

This I may never know the answer to;

Too scared to tell, no one ever even had a clue.

That’s exactly what He wanted, of course.

He explained this with a knife, his glare, along with much force,

For him to get that satisfaction is what hurts the worst.