Tell me again how much you support me


Tell me how you support survivors,
then tell me again.
I want to hear about your support on Facebook,
in essays, speeches, on Twitter
in poems
so I can quantify your support,
and contrast it with how little you helped me.
Maybe I’ll create an algebraic formula.
x is your support for abstract survivors
times y as the support you gave me
equals nothing.

Tell me how you would have,
happily and easily,
lived smiling, well-adjusted
after being raped daily by
your own dad and mum.
And treated like a mute, dumb, ugly porta potty,
a piece of plastic, my feelings and life as important
as a piece of plastic to my parents who were supposed
to love me unconditionally, but I was a piece of plastic
that had to be a certain shape
to be a useful tool.

So tell me again how you support us.
I’ll tell you
that rather when it was easy, looked good on your conscience,
and to others in the mirror
you were there for me.
But when the going got tough,
you left to throw stones at glass houses.

It’s like even now after seven years healing
I can’t say how they didn’t kill my spirit,
why I didn’t become like them.

Tell me how after days being starved,
dehydrated, electrocuted, and kept in a box
did I still fight to be good
when so many kids I grew up with simply
disappeared as if they had been erased like software.

Tell me one day how you know you would have done better.


Broken Heart with Band Aid