You taught me to be like you
I thought that was what I wanted
That night…
Sound, peaceful sleep
Harshly interrupted
You tried but you couldn’t help it.
You took it and all we heard
From you was quiet.
In the morning we waited
For him to leave and then
We ran into your room
You smiled at us, peacefully
Covering yourself so we
Could not see
You taught us
Your beautiful green eyes
Were now surrounded by
Blackness, bruises
You taught us
With your silence
You said you were fine
No, it didn’t hurt
You taught us
I cried. Your pajamas were
Ripped, shredded
You smiled with calmness
And you taught us
I was just like you
Everyone said, it made me happy
Then.
You taught us
I was different
I pulled out of it
I would not take it
You taught me
I learned not to be like you
My sisters did not.
having been in that situation myself i know after a while even the absolute obsession of love for him goes away… i cannot imagine why women stay after that… for the life of me,, i cannot imagine a reason good enough…
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Hugs to you…
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(((Corina)))
It was a different world. People were as likely to blame her as help her, and their first question was always, “What did you do?” We have options now that she didn’t, and I’m glad you didn’t stay.
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It’s still a punch in the solar plexus to read about.
Glad you aren’t one of the statistics… one of the women that stayed.
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This is a sobering reminder, Corina, of why abuse tends to be generational. We do learn from what we see. We imitate what we know.
It’s interesting, the counterintuitive things that go on with protecting a child. One would think that in some ways, an abused mother reassuring her children that everything was OK would be a good thing. But that is a fine example of adults forgetting what it’s like to be a child, and forgetting how much children see, observe, and feel. The child knows what’s going on. The child knows it’s wrong. Being told that everything is OK is a very painful violation of the child’s truth. The child gets confused. The child ends up like your sisters.
I am so glad you broke out of the pattern. So very, very glad.
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I’m glad you were different Corina.
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Good for you for breaking that pattern. And here’s hoping your sisters find the strength one day to follow your example. Hugs.
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Wow. You’re one of the strong ones — and the lucky ones. I think it takes a big helping of both.
I’m glad you are who you are.
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Nice poem, Corina. Stay strong!
Brian
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Sad, but lovely. I too am glad you were different and learned.
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This made me stop today, and think, and count my blessings. My mother, my sister, my neices have never known the things you do. No woman close to me will ever know them, either. At least not from our meeting on.
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Good for you — and I like how you presented this in a poem.
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