Dark Poetry

I Confronted One of My Abusers

TW: CSA Trauma, Mental Abuse

White background. In the middle are two overlapping and transparent images of two people yelling. Image by author via Canva.

A heart-stopping rage
The internal combustion
Overflowing shame

He barely human
I bear the curse of his touch
They stand by his side

Eyes burning with grief
Denied the ability to bloom
Let the child rest

A month or more so ago, one of my abusers, again, tried to see me. Let’s call him F. The last time F reached out to me personally was during the Me Too Movement. He chose the day before my birthday to be precise. A few months ago, he reached out to my sister and tried to get her to give him my information. Thankfully she checked with me first. That was the first time I named him to someone who didn’t already know. It wasn’t liberating. It was humiliating.

Sadistically, the person who gave him my number was my uncle. The one whose friends also abused me. He knows what our family members did to me [and his friends]. He knows how much this has affected me and ultimately ruined my life. Then again, how could I expect anything less? He’s a vile bigot and anti-survivor. He shouldn’t have my number either. Which means I was yet again betrayed by a…