Do they remember the moment of my suffering?
I was laying on the cold floor in their school,
Taunted and traumatized. I spent the next day in the nurse’s office
And I told the nurse that I was having fever. She didn’t listen.
Same things happened over and over again. I told my mom that I was just clumsy.
Do they remember the moment that I cried in the corner?
Desolated and alone, I came to them for help.
And how did an innocent book turn into a speaking monster when you touch it?
My marbles fall onto the floor, the ink spilled on the ground,
And their papers flew across the classroom in front of everyone. I told my brother that I was just tired.
6 years later, I opened a small book, and it spoke to me. It was innocent, but she knew everything;
She spoke to me and said, “Why don’t you write to me about what you are?”
“…not what you have been through, or not what you have experienced,
but who you truly are outside of the darkness. Because darkness does not own you.”
I sang and the book inhaled the melody. She wrote, “Today, our choir won gold in a choral festival.”
I sat down in front of a large river, and I wanted to cry.
The inner darkness told me that I will never achieve my dreams and it destroyed me overnight.
The book came to me and said, “Why don’t you tell me about how the river changes your joy?
…Let her speak to you.” I spoke to her in poetry, about how the river dances under the moonlight.
She wrote, “I will achieve my dreams.” The next morning, I received an envelope with a university seal.
Four years later, I sat in front of the book and told her how much my abusers did to destroy me.
How the nightmares come back at night, and how I fight with the darkness when I sleep. How much tears
I shed as a result, and how I bore a scar on my left knee. The book said to me, “What do you want to say?”
“Say anything you want. I’m here.” I sit quietly for a moment and I tell her,
“I choose to forgive those who hurt me. And I want them to be in paradise with me in happiness.”
I wrote this poem when I was reflecting on my past. I haven’t been writing poetry very much because I am so sick with my illnesses. But it’s good to know that the past does not take hold of me, and I want them to be happy too. One day, I will meet them and I will tell them that I love them. My past often create nightmares and I wake up feeling terrified. The voices sometimes tell me bad things about my past and telling me that it’s all my fault. But I know that forgiveness is key, and I feel so better now that I don’t think of them in anger anymore.
Sending you love and warmth.