The following poem I wrote is disturbing and I don’t share it lightly. When I confronted my mother, after years of therapy, about childhood abuse I had endured and why she didn’t protect me or leave my perpetrator, she responded with “you didn’t cry”. This is for all the ones who haven’t cried.

I Didn’t Cry

Timid

Dark

Quiet

Covers tight

Waiting for

My visitor

No one hears

I guess

I didn’t cry

Motionless

Trapped

Dry throat

Pretend to sleep

I didn’t cry

Go Away!

But in my head

How am I

Supposed to feel?

Sharp breath

Hard strokes

Press me

Invade me

Take from me

I didn’t cry

What is this?

I do not know

Innocence?

What is that?

Do I deserve that too?

Daddy?

Or were you ever

That to me

I didn’t cry

Dad to me

God to me

My very own

Missionary

Sermons from the pulpit

Sermons back at home

Bitter lessons

Mind your manners

Be an example

Others look to you

Don’t tell everything you know

Don’t tell everything you know

Don’t tell everything you know

I didn’t cry

Why’s it this way?

Because it is

What did I do?

Who says it has

A thing to do with you

Runaway?

That’s all you do

Runaway?

What can I do?

You took from me

You took from me

You fucked me up

I didn’t cry

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