Different but the same

Rich men, poor men

Old men, young men

Short men, tall men

One was too many, but there were five of them

Over my lifetime I’ve been prey for five men

Some had black hair, some had brown

Two part bald up on their crown

My hair was brown, long then short

I knew them all.  Conditioned early, easily caught

Two had an accent, three had none

All of them laughed before they’d begun

Their faces were different, intentions the same

Only one couched it as a game

Five different men, I was obedient to three

One of those read Dr Seuss books to me

Black shoes, brown boots, on or off – they didn’t care

Wedding rings, a Rolex watch.  Three of their wives were unaware

White shirts, blue shirts, towels, jeans, or work slacks

Cracked or new, no matter the colour, belts give me flashbacks

Thin or thick a belt’s impact is developmental

It hurts more when the buckle is just below eye level

And the smell of them, the sound of them, forever in my head

Colgate, Palmolive, sweat, mown grass, the smell of baking bread

A muffled voice, a sneeze, the bark of a dog, an aeroplane

A creaking bed and other movie cliched noises, in my ears remain

Fathers, stepfathers, employed, unemployed

They liked BBQs, sports matches, interests commonly enjoyed

Ordinary men, friendly.  The sort you are grateful to have as a mate

Always ready to fix a car, trim a hedge, hang a picture straight

Their mouths full of kindness, their lives full of lies

As they eye off that girl who no longer cries

Too scared to mourn

This is her life, this is her norm

Different houses, locations, but similar crimes

People keep asking me how many times 

I did not count, didn’t dream it could end

I did not tell, had no trustworthy friend

Child’s clothes, then adult’s, because I grew you see

But these things did not stop happening to me

Police were called, bruises shown

My evidence weak, I was always alone 

Five men taught me about human darkness and life

And all about self-hatred, ten rough hands my midwife

Teachers from whom I will never be free 

I did not want them to educate me

One man, two men, three men, four

Only five men.  I’m grateful there weren’t more

One I loved, four I did not

It is harder when I love him a lot

What was I? Loved? A trophy? Maybe just some payment they got

Perhaps they have forgotten, but I have not

What would I like to say to them?

I cry too much now because I couldn’t cry then

I lie in bed remembering feet out of sight

The shuffle walk no child should have to hear in the night

Five bleeding layers of trauma, each weighing down another

Pain hammered too deep, memories that smother 

Here I am, trauma-stained me, my mind stuck on six

Because perhaps there will be a sixth 

Six men, different but the same

The impact different but the same

I wait, my life a mess, my mind terror-fried.  My past the flame

What would I like?  A cleansing fire, a message to society.  My words a flame

Originally written June, 2019