I
see myself
Repugnant
In
the sight of men.
Men
who exploited
My
innocence,
My
obedience,
My
female body,
To
gratify their own lusting.
To
assuage the bursting ache of their own grasping for control, they used me.
Then,
Because
of their use,
They
despised me.
I
am a
Walking
manifestation of the
Evil
they have been
And
cannot acknowledge.
I
must bear their shame:
It
must be I who
Am
too alluring
With
my developing sexual body.
I
who
In
my very vulnerability
Should
be protecting myself
And
them
From
their own over-reaching desires.
I
am the one in the wrong place, in the wrong clothes, too weak, too alone, too
silent.
I
wear the mark
Of
their transgressions
In
my wounded eyes.
I
fear
The
evil I must be
To
have tempted those
In
whose care I am
To
violate their sacred responsibility.
The
weight of their (my) shame weighs heavy on my soul.
(© 2013)
(© 2013)
Your poem is deep and heart wrenching. Did you just write this, or did you dig it out of the past and just post it recently. I definitely identify with it. In reading it, I feel your pain. So many societies blame the victim, especially the woman relative to sex … note the relatively recent occasion in India.
ReplyDeleteAs I read the poem, I also thought of journaling I have done and at least one poem I wrote that has to do with my sensing that the shame was mine, but it actually was my parents’, especially my dad’s. I was quite graphic with this as I wrote. I’ve sensed some improvement in my own sense of shame related to incest/sex/immorality/etc., but I feel there is more to be done … including broadening the scope of the shame in my life from my fundamentalistic enculturation, including original sin, “bad boy,” etc., some of which may stem from this sexual shame.
Terry Gray