Night Whispers

The following are poems I have written in various times of despair, times of growth, and times of healing.

Deceived

I’ve got a chill that does not thrill but burns right down to my core…

Like a corridor it goes on and on without end it does not twist it does not bend just follows thru and thru like an arrow staying true but without truth I find my mind it grinds with suspicion and fear until nothing is clear but rather becomes an eruption of psychological corruption so that this chill…it does not keep still rather it squirms about like snakes and worms twisting my thoughts into confused knots and the chaos does cease for it only wants release but release I must deny it for my heart is noncompliant in its ache and I am afraid that I may break…

Wasted breath naught but death waiting to consume me

Ever-searching for the passion, never to assume me

Once believed, was deceived now my world is asunder

To the depths, my last breaths longing to thunder

Will the light return?

Will the fire once more burn?

Or will I fade away?

Forsaken

There is a whisper,

Uncertain and shaken,

Which boils from the depths

Of the forsaken.

Shadows

Shadows, those ever-present creatures

Dance upon the wall with misrepresented features

Whispers of phantoms, demons without names

Playing at your back with their enigmatic games

Creeping up behind you with the vilest of intentions

Incapable of clinging to your strict dimensions

Shrugging off into the night, the sea of concealed fiends

Plotting and waiting for the moment and the means

And while you slumber in your bed, coalesces about your head

Drawing your breath from your chest and edging you closer to your death

Until the first rays of dawn appear and scatter them from yon to near

The Warrior

The warrior walks with heavy legs

Weary from the fight

But triumph echoes in his mind

As he dances through the night

He and his people bravely fought

For freedom and for life

And though there were many deaths

They’d victored the horrid strife

The Black Leopard

She’s black of fur

And keen of eye

Everstalking

Queen of night

Upon her tree limb

Silently perched

She haunts the prey

For which she’d searched

The doe creeps closer

To the leopard’s tree

Unaware

Of her destiny

Rigid now

Muscles tight

As she readies

For the fight

If only…

Two little words, so unassuming

Behind them, profound regret is looming -

Things unsaid, actions not taken,

Paths unchanged, bright hopes shaken,

Angry remarks, pain inflicted,

Poor decisions, splendor rescinded.

Such remarkable loss to saddle on a petite expression,

There is insurmountable despair in in their reflection.

Behind these dispiriting words, many will frantically hide

But you can grow immensely when you set them aside.

Poems are copyright protected ©Rebecca Taylor 1996-2013

My Child of Rape

I sympathize with this girl. [link]

I was raped by my stepfather for three and a half years of my life. From my 12th birthday to a terrible Christmas Eve, my life was an absolute hell that I will never describe fully to anyone. Sometime near the end of this, I became pregnant. Despite his insistence to get an abortion (going so far as to take me to the clinic), I chose to keep the child. He came up with a cover story, and made me go along with it.

Most of my decisions during the next few years probably have not made sense to many of the people around me, including this "cover up". They don't understand that I did a lot of research while I was pregnant. They don't know the position I felt I was in.

I had researched the laws of the state I live in as thoroughly as I could. I could not find a single law that would restrict a rapist or child molester from asserting parental rights of a child born of rape. I did find a lot of material that ensured a biological father's rights to their offspring, though. This was a debilitating blow in and of itself. If I came out and reported what he had done, there was a chance he could fight for custody of my child. I was a minor with no job and no place to go. I was unsure as to how my mother would respond. I had seen a few girls in similar situations whose mothers had defended their abusers, even attacked their credibility. In some cases, their whole families had turned against them. I loved my family; this was a great fear of mine. He knew that. He used this against me from the very beginning of everything.

So, I felt trapped. Even after I turned 18, I was stuck in the same residence with him, locked up by fears of losing everything I held dear and fear for the safety of my younger siblings. I loved my child. I loved being a mother. I also loved my younger siblings and felt as protective of them as I did my own child. This is what broke my silence. I was terrified that he was about to start another cycle of molestation, this time with one of my siblings. I couldn't let that happen.

And so, I came out with the truth. They say that "the Truth will set you free". Well, sometimes it takes much longer to find that freedom than you might anticipate. What followed was the most tumultuous two years of my life. The services meant to investigate and protect children and women in situations like this failed miserably. For a long time, it felt like I really had lost my family. My mother had even come to me at one point and said that she "wanted to believe me, but she had to support her  husband".

However, it did end with charges being filed, a paternity test, and my abuser finally behind bars. Relationships with my family, although strained, began to mend. I had met my husband during this time, and he wished to adopt my child.

This is when I found out that my research had been correct and that my fears were justified. Despite being prosecuted for child molestation, despite the records showing that my child was a result of rape, he still had parental rights. I had to go through court to revoke his rights so that my husband could adopt my child. I could never explain what it is like to have to face down a rapist, my own stepfather, in court to have his parental rights revoked. I was terrified. This man who molested me, even though he was in prison, still had power over my child and me. What if he had his family come up and fight for my child in his stead? As manipulative as he was, what if he could turn it around and have my rights revoked? Or what if this process simply failed and my husband could not adopt my child? Would my stepfather be able to come take my child after his sentence was over?

Until the very moment when the judge told my husband and me that my child was officially my husband's child, I was scared. At that moment, all of my fears fell away, evaporated. I felt the tight grasp of my stepfather's power disappear. I felt free.

I hope that H.T. can find the same sort of closure. Rapists should not have parental rights-- ever. Victims should not have to fight these criminals over rights criminals should not have. Laws need to change to protect the victims. Laws need to recognize that children born of rape are indirect victims of rape and protect them as well.

Game Night: How I Met My Husband

            How do we learn to trust in others or ourselves? Trust in others comes from opening ourselves up to the possibility that we can rely on someone else, that someone can be worthy of our trust. Trust in ourselves-- that can be a little more difficult to achieve.

There was a great deal going on in my life when I was twenty. I was facing my stepfather in court for molesting me, raising my (his) daughter in my mother’s home, and tending to my siblings while my mother drove truck over-the-road. My stress level was through the roof, and my mother finally insisted that I take my friends up on their invitation to game nights every Friday to try to relax.

I was surprised to find that the first game night I attended was to be at Chuck’s house. He was a friend of my friends and my siblings, but I did not know him very well. The thought of his presence made me extremely anxious and giddy, and I had no idea why. This was only the fourth time I had ever seen him, but it was the first time I had officially “met” him. All night, my heart was racing as I sat next to him.

It is a strange feeling to suddenly have a group of guys flirting with you, while all you can think about is the one who seems uninterested in you. All of my friends at the time were male. Game night consisted of everyone getting together to play Dungeons & Dragons or other verbal role-playing games. Perhaps I had never noticed any interest shown towards me from the other guys and only became aware of it because I was suddenly engrossed by Chuck, but before that night, it had never seemed like any of them had taken notice of me. I had always felt like “just a friend” to them all. On this night, however, I felt overwhelmed as each of them seemed to vie for my attention. Their behavior was rather unnerving, as I was not used to it.

Meanwhile, Chuck sat calmly beside me, simply preparing to play the game. We were playing a new game called “Rifts” which allowed a character to have a primary ability and a primary flaw. He had chosen brute physical strength as his primary ability and a peculiar anger management problem as his flaw. (His character would go blackout berserk if something irritated it.) Seeing an opportunity to lighten the uncomfortable evening up, I chose lightning speed and an obsessive-compulsive disorder. The other guys thought that my choices were absolutely useless, but I had a devious plan to high-jack the storyline and try to impress Chuck.

Everyone finished building their characters. The game master, Jason, began telling the story. He set everyone up in a dystopian city, placing the brothers Jesse and Gene in one part of the city, Chuck in the sewers, and me in a café far from the others. The story brought us together quickly and gave us a quest; I do not recall what it was because it seemed ridiculous to everyone playing anyway.

My character (Menolly) started making trouble almost immediately. We reported to a resistance commander, and Menolly could not help herself as she started organizing the man’s desk. Chuck’s character became infuriated, blacked-out, and took a swing at her with his tree trunk arm. She ducked out of the way (successful throw, go me!) and he struck the character behind her (Jesse’s).

The night continued on in this manner, my character instigated and Chuck’s character responded, and lightning speed allowed her to dodge so that his punches landed on other characters. Honestly, I thought that they would not want me to game with them anymore. As it turns out, everyone except Jason really enjoyed the abstract gaming style I had brought that night and insisted that I return the next night for a special game of Werewolves.

It was time for me to leave. Chuck rose to walk me to the door, and I felt butterflies in my stomach tossing about madly. Before he opened the door, he told me he would like to ask me something. My heart somersaulted. I had no time for boyfriends. I had a daughter, things going on in my life, a brother and sister to take care of. I anticipated the question, planned to say “no”. I rehearsed my rejection and apology in my head as I waited for him to speak. I had never had to do this before. No one had ever asked me before, and I was not certain that I would have turned someone down before. It was not that I wanted to turn him down. I just felt that it would not be fair to subject him to my insane life at that specific moment. Aside from that, I had a child. I had to think about what was best for her, and I didn’t know him. All of this was swimming around in my mind, as he seemed to struggle to say what it was he wanted to ask me.

“Do you think you would want to date me?” he asked sweetly.

“Yes,” I said, before even half a heartbeat passed—before I could even process the words he had spoken. He almost seemed to falter for a moment, as though he had expected me to say “no”. My brain buzzed with disapproval and confusion. Why did I say “yes” when I had meant to say “no”? What was I going to do now? My eyes refocused on Chuck. He was smiling from ear to ear, but waiting patiently for me to say something else. I wondered how I was going to fix my gaffe.

Instead of remedying my mistake, I fled. I thanked him for a wonderful night, jumped in my car, and left. I spent the next two days fretting over what I was going to do. My mother kept telling me “just go with it” and that maybe my subconscious recognized something I needed in Chuck that I was not seeing. 

Finally, I gave in. I went to his house and talked to him about what had happened, how I felt about it, and what my concerns were. He told me that he would give me whatever space or support I needed. This reassured me greatly, and we started dating regularly about a month later.

I found him to be the single most supportive, considerate, loving, and caring person in my life. He has stood by me through the most tumultuous and the most wondrous moments of my life. We have been happily married for ten years. I cannot imagine what life would have been like if I had not decided to place a little trust in him. Not only have I learned to trust other people, I have learned to trust my instincts. I now know that my instincts tend to guide me down the right path, whether I know it at first or not.