On Robin's Song of Hiding
When I was small I was nothing.
It took me forever to feel something.
A ghost of a child who wished to
disappear -- but found herself bound
and used -- by anyone who spoke
a kind word; cold manipulation:
I didn't know I was rare.
All I knew was no one cared.
My talent is to see inside
and ohh the ugliness; I wept;
cried myself silently to sleep
one eye open; no rest for me.
Everything I learned was twisted
like learning music from a tone
deaf tutor -- I would sooner have
not existed. Do you know how old
I was, when I made my first break
for Heaven?.. That's right: suicidal
thoughts at seven. When abusers
chose, they are sooo selective
Convince the abused that we're
Defective! We ask for it, you
didn't know? We're the bad ones
and we can't tell...so we deserve
This private hell; created by ones
we are told to trust -- no wonder
we feel God gave up on us.
No punishment for a monster
could ever be enough, no
healing for what was ripped
before my mind could grasp it.
I moved from hate and hurt
into hurt and hate... Happiness?
drifted past it. I was the
walking wounded -- shell shocked
and hidden so deep inside
but never safe. There is no
safe when you know everything
is a lie. The semblance of
conformity, just what people
Want to see. I was bent and
molded by a warped artist
who got his kicks from the
forbidden -- and sneered at any
and all women who thought
they were too good for him;
so he stole what was not offered.
Oh they knew he was bad
and they were sure he'd be
hung -- but no one knew just
HOW bad or... what he'd done.
but now -- you do...
Sign me No Name. Sign
me Every Name: look into
the eyes -- of the disenfranchised.
Tom Joad's got nothing on me.
© Jeen Lilly
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