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this week I have discovered that
my mother was raped at the tender
age of sixteen plus one

which strangely happens to be
the age I stand at now

in accordance, i also unearthed
that my maternal grandmother
whose stories of kindness and grace
permeated my childhood
was molested by her own father

and also within the span of seven days
I opened my mouth and let out a floodgate
of fear to a near-stranger

violent emotions of grief and anger
I had been holding in since december
when news reached me
that someone dearly trusted by myself
and ten other young girls
had betrayed us in the worst possible way

I am in fear everyday
terror for myself, my future and my future generations
for I realize with passing each day
sexual violence does not last a lifetime—
instead, it spans generations
leaking into a toxic pattern
and injecting itself into the next child
and the next
even if they do not know the stories yet
even if they are still far younger than their teenage years
even if they do not know where children come from

even if they are far younger than the age when
their mothers sit them down
and tell them
about the day when everything changed
and red eyes replaced kind ones

I am the product of three generations of warriors
I am the heir to three generations of womanly strength
and I am the descendant of three victims of sexual abuse

and I do not wish to repeat the past

so forgive me
when I am curled on the bathroom floor
under florescent lights
trying to calm my breath
willing my heartbeat to stop beating so loud
after an unexpected panic attack
whose cause I only figured out later
in the darkness of my room
and the mire of memories of things past

forgive me when I am the only one not applauding
when the “hope of straight white men”
tells us that he is a very
very consensual person


he goes on,
an addendum to his angelic nature
tells a room full of young women
that he’s had fantasies
of girls when he passes them in the hallway
girls who could be one of us
to which he would do things
he tells us, that he does not want to do

dirty things where consent is a myth
and he is the only human in the room
and the girl is fuck thing
and a playtoy
and an object worth nothing

he says
‘of course…I would never act on these thoughts.’

and yet he has them as all the same.

forgive me when he gets a standing ovation
and ten hugs from eyes and arms more loving than mine could ever be
because he’s so strong to have opened up
to have shared
and given us this beautiful gift

forgive me
if I am the only one
not clapping

  background noise, T.J,  2014 (via goldenspine)

(via goldenspine)

(Source: unicornlordart)