Poems
You can find further poems and feedback from our Members in our Newsletter
Poems have always played a huge part in healing or moving forward. These poems are read by survivors to provide inspiration or written by survivors as an emotional release.
Our newsletter includes poetry and we encourage our members to submit items for the newsletter or for us to include on our display board (internally or at public events).
The content written by a survivor moves with them along their journey – evolving and changing. It can sometimes feel when rereading items written some years ago as if it was by a different person, ‘Did I really write that?’.
Here are some examples:
A Message to our Inner Child
On the other side of colour,
On the far side of the mirror,
Stand the shadow children.
Hands and faces pressed against the glass,
That no-one sees.
Their dark eyes see all,
Their lips speak nothing.
For this is the place of fear and darkness,
Where no one would venture willingly.
But to rescue the children you must be brave,
Take a candle and light their way.
Their stories may chill you,
Their cries may haunt you.
But once having seen them You can’t turn back.
Shoes well trodden,
Like the memories that haunt me.
Shoes Red.
Like the blood I let to show me I am real.
Shoes too tight.
Reminiscent of the tightness of my chest.
As I held my breath.
In the middle of the night.
As he crept towards me.
Curled up, in the shadows of my mind.
Painful thoughts and feelings.
Too frightened to be found.
Told I will be sent to prison.
And others die.
I need to keep this secret.
Hidden deep inside.
SHOES RED!
Standing tall.
With secrets unfurled.
Burden lifted.
And not to blame.
Found my CIS’ters.
A tribe, a whole.
Emotionally Resilient.
A future I can hold.
Is it an ending, or a new beginning?
As I break away from
My timeline within, and of, CIS’ters
29 years ago, in 1994, came the
Breakdown as the cavernous
Black hole opened beneath my feet
And the horror of my childhood
Was finally laid bare
From that debris came the birth
28 years ago of CIS’ters
i.e. Childhood Incest Survivors
A group I set up, out of the pain and anguish
where I could meet and be
Inspired by other females, like me
Who had been sexually abused/raped
within families.
CIS’ters saved me
And has taken me on journeys
Otherwise not travelled
To Chicago, the windy city
At a conference of 500 survivors
To London on rallies
Marching from Marble Arch to Trafalgar sq.
To Richmond House, the home
Of the Dept. of Health and NHS
The birth of The Survivors Trust
Providing an umbrella to voice
And hold, the needs of our fragile
sector
To parliament, the home of our democracy
To meet politicians who
Met us across divided parties
And vowed they cared
Some did and acted upon our sorrow
Those with lived experience met with
Theresa May, Vera Baird,
and Sandra Gidley plus other MPs
And the concept of IICSA was born
Out of the heartache of so many
across England & Wales
IICSA began to unravel the secrets
Long hidden from society
Of how victims had been cast as Liars.
Now a mountain of truth for all to see.
Of how such evil crimes
Had been covered up, to save the reputation
Of faith communities, sports associations,
Social care, and so many more.
We sought, and still do, to help others
Understand the nuances of certain words
Of actions
Of triggers
The past is the past, but is still of today
Affirming history can never be rewritten
For me,
A growing physical dependence on others
For health care and an ever
Increasing loss of personal
Independence
A reality is that the battle
Has still not yet been won
And never will
Each day more children,
Join the queue of victims
The personal torment is less
But, still, torn and dishevelled
The hurt lingers at times
Of how words can be cruel
Touch still ignored if consent
Not asked for, or given
Of brutal silencing tactics
A visible reminder of
The Jekyll and Hyde
Existence of countless abusers
Who preyed on fragile childhoods
And remained unseen ever after
As they stroll with their
Invisible cloaks intact
My personal future is invested in the hands
Of others
Of females I have not yet met
Of males, as men
And women and men who announce
That they are transitioning
My fragility, my increased emotional
Vulnerability, is ignored
Year 2023 = Once again
I am silenced with brutal force
A repeat of my childhood
When it is not ok,
To say,
It’s not ok.
BEING A SURVIVOR - By Abigail Robinson, extracted from the book 'The Memory Bird' - ISBV 1-85381-859-3
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What did I learn to survive, as a child and into adulthood ? |
What am I learning now, to live my potential ? |
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To put other people’s needs first; |
To put my needs first; |
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To make myself invisible; |
To be aware of myself; |
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To blot out intolerable realities; |
To be present with my whole reality; |
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To efface myself; |
To assert myself; |
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To merge with the identities of others; |
To experience my boundaries; |
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To become the occluded soul; |
To connect with and earth my spiritual self; |
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To leave my body; |
To stay in my body; |
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To internalise my anger, transforming it into fear and guilt; |
To feel and externalise my anger; |
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To cut off from my fear, sadness and self-love; |
To feel and express my fear, sadness and self-love; |
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To doubt myself; |
To trust myself; |
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To doubt myself in relation to others; |
To trust myself in relation to others; |
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To avoid intimacy; |
To risk intimacy; |
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To disconnect from and distrust my sexuality and sexual boundaries; |
To know and trust my sexuality and sexual boundaries; |
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To put myself down, to denigrate my life and my achievements; |
To celebrate myself, my life, my achievements; |
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To act out of self-hatred and a desire to destroy myself; |
To act out of self-love and a desire for fulfilment; |
|
To live in chaos, seeking perfect control, too afraid to act, fearing I would experience total powerlessness; |
To live in order and chaos, seeking a balance, trusting in my own power and open to the flow of life; |
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To see life as a series of crisis to be got through, to see pleasure as guilt ridden, unreal or untrustworthy. |
To see life as an evolutionary challenge, to celebrate each day with love, rest, fun and spiritual connection. |
Keep Well (Era 0f Covid-19)
With this virus going down
And there’s no-one around
When you’re all alone
Staying in your home
Remember we are all in it together
It won’t last forever
A big thank you to the N.H.S. for all their help
Thank you to everyone who helps
I want to shout
Stay at home and keep well
Even if it feels like hell
If you need help there is help out there
Young or old, other people do care
Sister’s my thoughts and love is with you all
But together now we need to stand tall.
CIS’ters’ Member Rosemary (1484)
How Do we Thank You?
To the workers in shops, who help keep us safe when filling our trollies
And to those restocking the shelves and others who drive lorries
To the teachers and school caterers who support the vulnerable
To the carers in homes and hospices, who look after our loved ones
To the many who deliver our post and our newspapers
And those that empty the bins and sweep the streets
To the police responding to calls and keeping us safe
To the ambulance drivers and armed forces
To the army of volunteers helping to support us
Not forgetting, ever, those working in Covid-19 hotspots.
To the politicians and local councillors who praise us all
And social media contributors keeping hope in our hearts
But not the ones who constantly chip away at failures
Like newsreaders. Plus tell me what the hell has happened to
Eamon Holmes – as they increase our despair not helping at all
And a massive thank you to my friends and neighbours
Who have helped me know that they are there
If I need them now or again in the future
There are no words that are a big enough
Thank you.
Together we are a large team
A community
A band of warriors
Thank you
To us all
Gillian, CIS’ters, 14th April 2020 (era of Covid-19)
If the Mountain Seems Too Big Today
If the mountain seems too big today
Then climb a hill instead
If the morning brings you sadness
It’s ok to stay in bed
If the day ahead weighs heavy
And your plans feel like a curse
There’s no shame in rearranging
Don’t make yourself feel worse
If a shower stings like needles
And a bath feels like you’ll drown
If you haven’t washed your hair for days
Don’t throw away your crown
A day is not a lifetime
A rest is not defeat
Don’t think of it as failure
Just a quiet, kind retreat
It’s ok to take a moment
From an anxious, fractured mind
The world will not stop turning
While you get realigned
The mountain will still be there
When you want to try again
You can climb it in your own time
Just love yourself til then
A massive thank you to Avril (43) who found this on the net
and sent in to help us all manage another day………
Now – there are no longer 100s
Now – there are 1000s
Of survivors
Speaking out
Being heard
The tsunami of change
Is upon us
It is full of voices
New ones
And
Those that
Are decades old
Still saying
This is our truth
This is the truth of children,
Still
Today
Please help them
Please help us
Voices – echoing across the land
Though not always in harmony
And sometimes
Abusive
But
Still
Voices – echoing across the land
(Gillian - Written 2017)
It takes time
For us to speak
It takes time
For us to trust
You
Us
Society
It takes time
For you to understand
To appreciate
The fragility of a child
A child that is powerless
Despite what YOU say
What you think
Children are unable to stop abuse
Only you can do that
The adult survivor
The friend
The parent
The neice
The neighbor
The work colleague
The teacher
The doctor
The person
Who stands and sees
And before, turn away from the truth,
It takes you, and us, to stop the abuse
(Gillian - Written 2016)
Because it does.
It matters, because you stole what was
Only mine to give
To the right person
At the right time.
It matters, because
You hurt me, not just physically
But emotionally too.
It matters because what you did to me,
Affected how I saw myself
And how others saw me too.
It matters because of what I was denied
Then and now.
It matters – and don’t let anyone,
Least of all you
Think that it doesn’t.
It matters that today
Children are still unseen and unheard &
That Judges and the law of the land
Blame them for what others
Have done, to them.
It MATTERS – and it always will!
(Gillian - Written 2009)
Friends Lost
Friends Lost
Faces turned away
The truth too difficult to hear
Perhaps own secrets locked
Not wanting to disturb
Eyes cast away, not meeting mine
Shuffling feet, moving body away
From mine, for fear of
Contamination, of being too close
Lest the stigma will stick.
Friends gained
Nodding heads
Hands reaching out to clasp
My shaking hands
Empathy, respect, Belief.
Courage to disclose
Courage to accept the truth
Me as i am now and then
Friends support and with that
Strength. I move on.
(Gillian - Written 1996)
How Could You?
How could you
Rape me,
Abuse me,
Deny me my innocence ?
Smug look, knowing smile,
Taunting me,
As I grow from child to woman.
Secret safe, power game,
Waiting for the next generation
To play this game.
Not me, not mine.
I cannot capture
The power to confront you openly
But score points in any way I can.
Deny the children
None are borne.
Safe is the unborn,
No energy wasted in watching,
The safety of any child of mine.
(Gillian - Written 1996)
Integration
Integration happens at night
Memory and feelings unite
in the dark shadow of
drifting light, as day drifts into night.
No need to recall
the memory is clear
previous, elusive, feelings
clamour to be near.
Interrupting the calm of knowing
but not feeling
until my nerves become
stretched to breaking.
Terror, child like fear
irrational and uncontrolled
no recognition of the passing years
of then - is now - again.
Awake sweating, feeling the touch
of his hot clammy hands upon
my breasts, thighs, secret places
hot breath, smelling of whisky
whispering foul into my ear.
Tears, silently falling
like acid running down
my cheeks
eyes sore, red rimmed
silent witness
to my pain, endured.
Years, days, hours - then, now
is it a dream of the future
from a child
or of the past, as an adult
integration happens at night.
Invading my peace
allowing no sleep
only restless tossing
turning, weeping.
Integration happens at night
recognising now, the childs plight
of years.
Courage, reality, the price is high.
The cost is heavy.
(Gillian - Written 1994)