HD (22/10/84 / Oxford(UK))

Can'T Find The Words

I can't find the words I need
To tell them all of the horrible deed.
I need help
But no-one hears my little yelp.

How I wish I could just spit it out
But there is always that niggling doubt.
I have kept quiet for so many years
What if people don't believe me? Is one of my greatest fears.

Why am I always left on my own?
I'm used to having to deal with things alone.
When people ask, I say I'm OK
They all think I'm having such a wonderful day.

How do I tell them the secrets of my past?
And deal with all the judgements they pass?
I am scared people will reject me and run a mile
Leave me to collapse in a pile.

My Brothers don't understand why I'm so bitter
They were too young to look after their sister.
Secrets are an evil sin
But now I'm expected to forget and discard the truth in the bin.

Most people don't know the full extent of the abuse
Try to stick up for the abusers with some kind of excuse.
Constantly being told I must be remembering things wrong
That I showed no sign and was able to remain strong.

People didn't hear the threats
That if I told, I would live to regret.
Why do people find it so hard to believe?
That any of this ever happened to me.

I have got no reason to lie
I wish it hadn't happened, I often ask myself why?
People find it difficult to come to terms
When I confide in them, they scuttle off like worms.

How can I tell them how he made me strip?
And pinned me down by the arms and hip.
How I felt his hot breath on my neck
He would stroke my face, then give me a peck.

How can I tell them how I had something growing inside?
I didn't know myself til the baby had died.
I want to tell them how used and disgusted I feel
How I want to chop off his balls and feed them to him as a meal.

What would people say if they knew what they both did to me?
Would they also agree that I am filth and dirty?
Would people blame me, say it's my own fault?
That I should haev done something sooner to bring it to a holt.

I want to be able to tell people how I'm really feeling inside
And why I feel I must harm on the outside.
I'm sick and tired of being the one who gets hurt
Why do people always treat me like dirt?

It's so much easier to keep my mouth shut
And keep myself hidden away in my hut.
I can't find the words I need
To tell them all of the horrible deed.

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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