A Poem for the Women who Grieve

A little girl alone in the dark, clinging to her teddy bear. 

The only man she’s ever trusted said it was because he loved her.

I wonder why she didn’t tell.

A teenage girl on her first date, new outfit, new freedom, new self.

He forced himself on her, pretended she asked.

I wonder why she didn’t tell.

A college student at her first party, just getting to know her new friends

She got to know one more than she ever wanted.

I wonder why she didn’t tell.

A middle-aged woman working long hours, making a name for herself.

He said if she told he would end her career.

I wonder why she didn’t tell.

Each time we ask why, we ignore a deep cry, an immense groan from women who grieve. 

We re-victimize and re-traumatize, when we trivialize the impact on their lives. 

And the shame it just grows, and it grows. 

And we wonder why she didn’t just tell someone, when it happened, when things could be done.

But what we can’t feel is the pain that she holds and the fear that unfolds if she says what she knows. 

Asking a victim why she didn’t tell and portraying her story as false, is like walking into a hospital room and kicking the sick in the face. 

She is hurting and broken, can’t forget what was taken, especially if everyone knows. 

So, she’s brave and she’s strong, tries to just carry on, but the pain it just grows and it grows. 

When she finally tells, the attacks they will come, from people who she’d never thought. 

She’ll hide all her thoughts, submit to the boss -the culture that says that her story is lost. 

And she’ll sit once again with the pain that she’s in, and the shame that she carries will scream and will spin.

And she’ll get up each day and she’ll fight for the healing.  Because she is fierce, and-no-she isn’t quitting. 

And her heart it just grows and it grows. 

And if culture won’t hear her, she’ll make herself known

She’ll reach out to the hurting, believe what she’s told.

She’ll stand up for the broken with their hands in hers, ‘cause the world around her can’t decide what she’s worth. 

Her worth wasn’t taken that day or that year, she was victimized, but-no-she won’t live in fear. 

Because fear was the goal and success it was had, but-no-not anymore, that girl’s finally mad.

And that anger will drive her to be all she can, to do all that she will.  And that man he won’t win.  He’s alone on that hill.

Culture and noise may be on his side, but the night that he hurt her a part of him died. 

And nobody wins when we make them be quiet, pretend it’s not happening and loudly deny it. 

Nobody wins, the victim, the thief, the children, the parents-no-EVERYONE weeps. 

And until we admit it and say what is it, the pain will keep coming, again and again.

And everyone loses, the girls and the boys, when will we hear their cries over the noise?