Poetry

Childhood Lost

There are days where it just hits me 

Where the unspeakable mass of emotions

Holds me by the throat,

Slams my fragile body into my deteriorating mind

And an erratic heart beat applauds another loss

Of maddening success 

As birds twitch awake 

Ridiculing my drooling sunset

With a laugh and a tweet

Cruising the plummeting squeek of swinging defeat.

All while I cry

My god, do I cry.

Advertisements
Uncategorized

An honest story about Child-on-child sexual abuse

Child abuse is something that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. 

Child-on-child sexual abuse (CoCSA) damn right cringes people the hell out. 

I’m here to talk about both, if not now, then for a short time soon.

What amazes me is that it’s not widely talked about and victims of  (CoCSA) are shamed into silence about it or are mistakenly blamed for the sexual assault they encountered as a small child. Like, “no, that wasn’t sexual abuse! That was you exploring your sexuality, you little deviant!”

But guess what? 

If you’ve had to suffer through unwanted sexual contact as a child from another child, that is CoCSA. That experience shouldn’t be explained away, it shouldn’t be brushed under the rug nor should it be minimilised. 

Your experience is very real, incredibly valid and shouldn’t be silenced because it makes people uncomfortable. That’s not fair on you or your experience. 

I’m sick and tired of people looking down on victims of CoCSA because they can’t wrap it around their own minds how one child can violate another in such a way, but holy hell does it happen. And it happens in the thousands. 

One way or another, that experience can very well effect your functioning. 

I know because it has effected mine. And I hate it. Absolutely hate it with a passion and I wish I never had to go through that but I did. 

I did.

Nakedstreetkid out x

moments

Moments: The Library

I’m in the library and I’m writing.

The pitter patter of the rain drumming throughout is distracting and I have to place my headphones in my ears in order to ignore it. Not that I’m playing any music as that would be equally distracting. You see, I had the tendency to analyse a song’s lyrics and or instrumental abilities quite thoroughly. No, I’m using my headphones as something to dampen the sound. And it does a good job until the rain intensifies and becomes an all disastrous force of nature against the windows of the library.

It’s a good thing I’m inside and the rain is out.

I evacuate my headphones from my ears as there is no longer a need for them. As I do so people begin to crawl into the library, bringing their chatter and whispers with them.

I guess I won’t be able to get as much work as I need to done today. No matter, that is why I have a book in my bag, just in case of small emergencies similar to this one.

I stare dimly at my copy of Juno and Juliet and smile. The cover, torn and ripped, stares unashamedly back at me. The light blue of the cover has been washed away of even more of it’s colour until it is has become a stale, powdery white. I wish I could say that it is in this state because it has been following me around for years like a much loved blanket, but that would be a lie. Despite loving it with a deep passion, the rips on the cover were not made by me, but made by a younger version of what I am now. A disastrous tyrant who somehow believed that in order to show your love for something it must show signs of wear. So, in a quick passion to do, this said tyrant fabricated a few of her own to show just how much she loved the novel.

Stupid. That was stupid.

Because now I’m left with a book that I’m not quite sure how to look after. I don’t want to tape it back together because I’m worried that it would destroy the already thinning cover. And I don’t want to protect it with a rain cover because there is still a part of me that believes that the scruffiness – for lack of a better word – shows just how much I love the book.

Stupid. Just stupid.

But, what can I say?

I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic.

NaBloPoMo

Childhood Fear

What was your biggest fear as a child? Do you still have it today? If it went away, when did your feelings change?

Fear… It’s an interesting concept.

Fear is something that I do not take lightly. It was an ever present looming force over the whole of my childhood. Omnipotent, in a sense. The one to create fear is the one with the power.

I could name the obvious ones. My father, being one. But I feel as if I’ve mentioned all of that. So, a “normal” fear as a child for me… It’s probably the trees outside my house.

You see, I live right outside a public garden and there are these huge trees (London Plane Trees) which stand a massive 35m tall directly outside my bedroom window. Every night, I would look out at them and quake in fear as the wind would rip past it. I was convinced that one day it would topple over and I would be crushed. For some reason, the idea that it would crush me didn’t scare me, just all the consequences after it. That’s what I was scared of. The unending pain of being crushed.

Did I get over it? Why, yes. Yes I did. I just stopped thinking about it so much. I assured myself that if the tree really was to fall, it would hit the top bunk before falling on me. And I could probably survive being crushed by the top bunk rather than being crushed by a tree.

Completely plausible. Both scenarios.

Nakedstreetkid out x 😛

Uncategorized

A simple helping hand

Hi, guys. I thought I’d announce that I don’t feel as destroyed anymore. I feel like new life has been breathed into me, as disgusting and gross as that sounds. And it’s strange because it happened quite suddenly.

I guess it started as I was having a terrible day. It was a silly terrible day, no real reason. Depressed and stressed out about… What? I don’t even know. Friends. Hating everyone and all that. And then I decided to go onto childline and just expel everything. Just say everything that was on my mind. I got through to this really lovely lady called Maria and she was so supportive. She reassured me and encouraged me to just do what I wanted to do. She made me realise that the summer isn’t actually over and I still have time. That makes me happy. She was really lovely.

I’m sure this isn’t relatable to anyone (when are they ever) but thought I’d post it anyway.

Nakedstreetkid out x

Uncategorized

Paper Aeroplane

When I was a kid, I used to dream that I could glide around my house on a paper aeroplane. The paper aeroplane wouldn’t get bigger but I would get smaller. I would fit in the slip between the folded paper and just glide. I would glide all around my house. From my living room to my kitchen to my bedroom. Hands holding tightly onto the folds, making sure I was tucked between its wings so I wouldn’t fall out. And I would lean from left to right. Past my screaming father, past my emotionally bruised mother and through the open window. Free from the violence and the uncertainty.

Free from the irregular outbursts of anger forever.

This never happened, of course. I would return slowly, slowly out of my daydreams and wake up in a world of frequent irregular outburst from a father who would release his anger through slaps to the face and kicks to the torso. Anger in his eyes and shouts spitting my way. Purging away at my sense of self.

The only place that seemed safe was in my daydreams. In my paper aeroplane, cruising through the thin sky, avoiding the tainted air that surrounded my father.

Safe forever in my daydreams. Only one could hope the same would happen in reality.