Let Her Understand

By Beverly Greene

Dedicated to my wonderful wife, Jamie as well as all of my fellow survivors.

NOTE: This poem is protected by international copyright laws and may NOT be reproduced in any form without the author's expressed and written consent.

I try to explain what you can not understand
with empty words for emotions you've never felt.
You only joke or smile in response.
So, I push you away with anger and shame
as my child mind screams for you
to agree and comfort me.
I need you to understand my anger,
for you to feel it too, justifying it for me
instead of fearing it or laughing
at such a strong, volatile emotion.
You detach yourself from my pain
and anger through joking smiles,
pushing my child soul deeper and deeper
into its age-old cocoon.

If I could find a word, or even a volume
to make you understand, I would write it
high upon the wall for you to read.
If I could create a picture or symbol
to represent me, I'd show it to you.
If I could let you read my thoughts,
just for a moment, you might feel it too.
If I could let you watch my life,
like a sad documentary, you might understand.
But I can't.
No word, picture, or extra sense
will ever let you into my personal hell
to help you reach within my soul.

I would protect you from my horrors,
if I were able to somehow, but I can't.
I need you to know and feel my violation,
to give me a welcome refuge in your arms.
I can't go on hiding my past pains
behind a fake smile designed in shame,
or maybe guilt, or even, left over fear.

As I read others' words through teary eyes,
trying to internalize their pain
and their later personal triumphs,
I can see your thoughts in your face,
wondering why I have to read "that stuff".
I can see that you are trying to understand
with a mind never scarred this way
why it is so hard to forget
and why I have to seek it out in books.

I silently cry myself to sleep again,
in the old, taught tradition of unshared pain
and wish I could hand you a piece of history
and make you see that it is not over for me.
It will never be over for ME,
not until I am able to reclaim
my memories, my life, my body.

I pray that God would have mercy
and let you share my unconscious nightmares,
feeling what I feel each night
as my mind struggles to keep me in the dark
about the horrors of the past
that not even I know about yet.
But it can't happen, so I silently cry instead.

I wish, just for a day, you could feel
what it is like knowing that your life
is not your own, with half being locked
away from recall in some protective core,
the unknown good and bad
that helped shaped who I am.

Darkness settles in beyond the window
and in my soul as sleep takes over,
but not before I can utter one last prayer,
"Please God, let her understand."

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� 1999 Beverly Greene owns all rights to this original poem.

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