Tell me your story
Dear Child, tell me your story.
Don’t hold back your tale and please don’t interpret the story; just tell me the story.
How did it begin? Did he smile at you, flatter you or was it a hit from the beginning?
How did he look at you? Did he strip you with his eyes and no one believed it? Tell me your side of the story.
I heard the neighbours say you always played too much and jumped on his leg. But he’s family, right? How did it all start?
Don’t try to organize the gist; start it from any point just don’t leave out any detail. Tell me the things you felt in your guts that you couldn’t interpret.
Dear Child, tell me your story. Forget how your strong bones failed you or how your voice ceased when you tried to scream. Just tell me the entire story.
Did he threaten you? Did you have an orgasm? Did you hate how you had no witnesses yet are grateful no one saw that weakness?
Child, tell me your story in your own words. Pour your anger into your words let’s it rain as hail and stones. Tell your truth.
Until you tell your story, it will always celebrate the hunter. Refuse to let this steal your voice.
Tell me your side of the story. Don’t hold back your shame, guilt, regret and anger. I can handle the wrenching in your soul.
Child, pour out your story as bile. Clean your lungs, empty out this dark waste. Clear out this toxicity, roar even though it sounds like a broken record.
Child, tell your side of the story. Refuse him to redefine who you are. Tell your story even if no one else reads it.
Tell your story to my ears, write it in a letter, sing it in a song, scream it with your tears but child, don’t lock up your side of the story in the basement of your chest.
Tell me your side of the story.
