63%: A Poem

His fingers outlined the curve of my innocence.

Stealing what wasn’t his.

His hands took without asking,

his ears refused to listen,

and his lips spoke soft lies in whispers.

Turned into an object without a say,

the person I was slowly started to fade.

He said he would never hurt me,

but to keep it between just him and me.

I wanted to tell, but he left constant reminders.

They would call me a liar.

Say I just wanted attention,

or that I was a child…

after all I was just eleven years young.

In an instant I became one of sixty-three percent.

Just another girl who freed her assailant.

And while I’ve healed from most of his wounds,

no physical sign of what he has stolen remains,

he still walks free, and I can’t say the same for me.

I was told to be quiet,

and as a good girl I kept silent

but as a woman I can no longer.

At birth I didn’t know I would have to become a fighter,

simply because of the genetic makeup from my father.

or that monsters didn’t just live under your bed, but sometimes in them.

At birth I didn’t know I would start out as a statistic.

And now seeing I’m not the only one with these words on the tip of her tongue, I’ve realized this mouth has stayed stationary too long.

My fingers now trace the map of all the places I’ve been.

My hands can now hold another’s in love.

These ears now hear nothing but “you’re worthy”. And my lips, oh my lips, they no longer feel the need to say “this was my fault”

You thought you took something that day, and maybe you did.

But you didn’t leave me weak.

I still love.

I still trust.

And I’ll still speak.

What was lost is done and gone, but what remains is a survivor.

Kelly Jarvis

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