Why I Don't Blame My Rapist
A poem about listening to the children around you, and holding space for the feelings about the world. Please note that this poem is about my trauma regarding emotional neglect and child on child sexual assault (COCSA). Please do not read if you are sensitive to these themes.
"I would ask why you didn't tell me. But I don't think it would help."
It wouldn't, and yet by saying that, you are asking. I know you. These games you don't even realize you're playing.
I don't tell you. In the stress of admitting it to you for the first time, I've forgotten. Or maybe I didn't know yet.
I know now.
I know why I didn't fucking tell you.
I was 7. She was 7.
She was my only friend. I came out crying; you'd thought I'd been hurt. Physically, I think, because when I explained what happened, that I thought I lost my best (my only) friend, you angrily told me not to make you worry like that. When I was 7, I thought it was fair. That I was crying over a child's game.
So why, when I was 9, would I tell you I was being touched by that same girl under the guise of a game?
After all, you told me not to tell you unless it was serious. Made it known not to trust you.
I didn't.
And I didn't call it rape, grasp the severity of it, until I was 20. Didn't let myself hurt like I wanted to, needed to, until a decade later.
I don't blame the girl one bit for what happened. She was probably as scared as I was, and I only wish her the best.
No, I don't blame the other 9-year-old for what happened.
I blame you, because when it started, there was no where to turn to.
It wasn't serious enough.
About the Creator
Lycan
21|Dark Romance and Poetry|He/Him
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Comments (1)
I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I totally understand how you feel. I was sexually assaulted by my mom's cousin brother when I was 4 years old. I told my mom and grandma but they didn't believe me. It only stopped when I was 8. Only later in life I got to know the seriousness of what happened to me. I hope you're in a better place now