Moving On | A poem

Moving On

By Phyllis P.

 

It presses against my throat wanting voice,

It constricts my chest,

It seals off my heart.

A sob,

A wail,

A whisper.

 

It denies me

confines me,

and defines me

 

I open my mouth to speak and

the hurt binds the words inside

Shackled to him …

to the sound of his voice,

to the felt sense of his hands on me.

 

Imprisoned by the memory of him that

I

cannot

wash away.

 

I need to speak,

Slowly, clearly and loudly.

I need to tell what he did.

I need to scream what he did.

I need to sob for what he did.

 

And then …

  just …

move on.

 

Phyllis is a participant in Finding Your Voice, a grant-funded CHANA support group for survivors of abuse

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