Colors of Life - The Little Girl

Yesterday, I was honored to once again interview Luis J. Rodriguez for an upcoming episode on Poetic Resurrection. We spoke for about two hours and we had an amazing conversation about many subjects, including sexual abuse. Being a survivor of this, I had written the poem The Little Girl featured in my first book, Inspire Me: Raw. I’m grateful to my parents for being there for me. It was an experience I thought I had overcome since I could talk about the situation. But, I hadn’t. It wasn’t until I wrote the poem that I could release the shame and trauma I was holding onto. It served no purpose but to keep me down. Why would I want to hold on to that? The situation is that we sometimes don’t know we’re still holding onto the past. It has a way of showing up as a trigger and that’s when I knew I had to work on letting go. I don’t believe in “forgive and forget”. Yes, I can forgive, but you don’t forget. You learn to forgive them and yourself for holding onto so much pain throughout your life. I’ve noticed many survivors talk about their experience and I wanted to do the same; I just wrote from the perspective of the child, because the child doesn’t understand. And now the poem The Little Girl from Inspire Me: Raw The little girl walks to school Tenements line gray streets She does well in school Her five-year-old stature Shows resistance & strength Drawings of prismic colors Joy and glee adorn her face Hesitant to show teacher Waiting for praise—teacher questions She understood but couldn’t answer Teacher screams at her Points—to disappear into The sea of moveable desk She gazes at her tattered shoes Her friend speaks English, she does not Colorless teacher was unkind To the little girl Who only speaks Spanish Tears flow down her face She hides - the teasing kids Goes home, keeps to herself Pretends to be an actress Living a world that wasn’t her own Only hearing voices of a different land Citizens we are, but not considered same Pretending so young to be okay Her seven-year-old friend Said she wanted to play A store basement, dark and clammy Her friend gazes on while she screams “It hurts,". “Why did you do this?” A teenage boy Took friend’s innocence and Now he’s taken the little girl’s Her soul and worth But she doesn’t understand The store owner saves her, Atop soaring stairs Bold voice of disgust Vibrates the crypt Boy halts, he runs She now rests at home A peeling grey wood porch Third-floor view—sits on step Sunless hallway Looking at the sky so blue Doesn’t know how she got there Mind’s a haze of events Discolored panties, hand washed often Advertise the status of her little life The bandages trying to hold The innocence lost. It’s too late Mom looks at her— Turns away and cries. Did she do something wrong? Sorry you’re hurting; doesn’t know what to do I’m sorry mom Don’t mean to make you cry Don’t mean to make you cry Tears never came to me The little girl who didn’t understand