Today is 2 months since things were dropped and in a few more days, it'll be three months since things happened. I wrote this poem the other day. I'm going to use this poem as a basis for a short story. Last year I wrote a story called "Irish Coffee," I forget the premise but I didn't finish it because I couldn't find an ending. I think it's going to be a story about coming to terms with assault.
Where do you find yourself
after you wake up from a nightmare--
a nightmare that was real, that even
your own imagination can't make up?
Your beautiful thick black hair is growing back,
you know he shaved you bald for humiliation.
Yet, that was the least of your worries,
as you wake up screaming, but even that varies:
you try to avoid the feelings and hold it in
to prevent the dark memories from bubbling,
but some people trigger you and it comes like waves,
the murderous, yet helpless feelings--
you can't even watch your favorite shows:
Law & Order, the ID Channel and Cold Case.
A few months in as the antibiotics wear off
and HIV tests cease, you're negative thank God,
you find yourself avoiding the town of the nightmare,
avoiding places you love near that shop
and you lost the few friends from mood swings.
However, in these few months you have learned--
learned who you are and take steps
on leaving this place behind, where unhappiness breeds.
I'll post "Irish Coffee" when I'm done, but it's going to be slow... I want to take time with it... I don't want to force any bad memories back.