I'm angry that justices I would like to seek are denied me.
I am angry that people I trusted would not, will not stand up for me.
And it's okay that I am angry, because from my anger I know that I can move forward.
I waited nearly 40 years to get angry about being raped when I was a teenager. My silence, like the silence of so many other women who simply lift their chins and carry on with life, allowed the perpetrators to carry on their own lives, and I don't know and probably will never know if my silence cost another woman her integrity, her self respect and almost her sanity. Because that's what it cost me.
So when I feel anger now I do not bottle it, I do not stay silent, I do not keep it to myself. When someone violates my trust, my emotions, my heart, I will tell the world, because it is NOT okay.
I will not live in a vacuum. I will not allow people to walk over me. I will not allow people to use my heart and my body for their own selfish ends. If I am in pain, I will cry out. If I am angry, I will retaliate in kind.
Don't express surprise. Express remorse.
Don't try to make me feel like the guilty party, because I refuse to.
I invite caring, happy, loving people into my world and my heart - if you are not caring, loving and happy, or if you have lied to me that you are, do not expect me to feel sorry for you. There is no longer any space in my life for people who do not love me as much as I am learning to love myself.
I wish I had understood that many years ago, when people judged me for mistakes I made. We are all entitled to make mistakes - it's how we learn. If I hadn't made those mistakes when I was young, chances are I would be making them now instead of understanding them.
So for all the judgmental people over the years who would rather shun me or verbally stab me in the back than accept me for me - this is for you.
Songs Unsung, Tales Untold
Luisa © 2013
Many years ago, in my youth, I thought I had some friends
but time would show that friendship dies but distrust and spite know no ends.
Turned out a workmate – let’s call him B – got married to one of those girls.
Years later we met at a Christmas event - from there the saga unfurls.
Perhaps she was insecure but she didn’t want me there.
She wasn’t happy to acknowledge me – she made that very clear.
Again, more time passed, another scene, a dinner with new friends – not to be…
Yes, I know those names, say hello from me!
I’ve heard nothing since, maybe I should give up trying to
make friends with people who really don’t care what I went through.
Is it right that I am judged by these suburban housewives
who have probably never put a foot wrong in their lives?
The distaste is palpable, I can feel it in the air -
I have no way to counter it – do they really think it’s fair
to hold against me the mistakes I made when I was young?
I don’t know their secrets – perhaps they have songs unsung.
Did I give up my rights so long ago? Was I the harbinger of my own doom?
What did I do wrong, really, apart from being the wrong gender in my mother’s womb?
How come a man who sleeps around is called a stud but
a woman who does the same is labeled a slut?
I made mistakes when I was young – who doesn’t when all’s said and done?
Yet I am judged and found wanting – so many years ago but now my friends are none.
I’ve paid the price don’t you think? Will you always be so cold?
I don’t know your secrets – perhaps you have tales untold.