Was that my fault?

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Can’t speak out as my voice is dead.

Can’t scream out loud as it lies beneath years of pain.

Can’t cry as my tears a dried.

I can’t express what I feel as the words of mine has been snatched by time.

I don’t feel anything as my sense has been senseless.

I can’t breathe as those flashes of that day arrives at my threshold, banging on by door,

 That panic returns.

I can’t think as my mind is stuck, repeating those words.

My heart doesn’t beat as it has been petrified.

Time doesn’t aids me as it had shown its anger, frustration, brutality on me.

Those bruises, cuts and marks they all seem to have been healed but not the marks that stopped my soul to speak.

That pain I suffered comes back every single night. In a form of shadowy figure, almost translucent.         
 
I see it standing by my bed, after a moment it sits and moves its hand on my forehead.                                                                       Slowly moving it down to my breast, vargina and back on my throat, grabbing it and suffocating my soul.      

My soul it feels the same pain it did on that night. It departs my body and comes back soon making a path for the Pain figure also to come.

I can’t look at my mirror cause when I do I see the 14 year old me.                                                               

Looking devastated, panicked, watery eyes with tear marks on the cheek, messy hair, cuts, blood stains, bruise 

She doesn’t says anything, just stares.                                                                                                                                                                     The day I first saw her I got afraid but now I understood she just reflects my mistake.

Unable to find an end to it I went for a quest to find answer for this.

Like every day, I asked myself, “Was that my fault?”

Just like everyday a voice from inside me spoke, “Your fault? Not at all.”

Satisfaction took over my nerves, I ask all this questions to myself but the answers that I come up with- it hurts.

The voice spoke, “it wasn’t your fault except the fact that ‘why you didn’t stop him and allowed him to demolish your soul’.”

That made my satisfaction turn into needles, not only that but it brought those scene once again.

‘He came, that room, that slap-punch, that kisses on my neck, that hand pulling me by my hair, that hand that moved from my face to my breast, that cloth stuffed in my mouth, him removing me clothes, my screaming, that pain, tears’

 

“Stop, stop!” I screamed.

The voice spoke, “Every day you ask it, imagine it and scream, … that day ‘was it your fault? Not at all.”

I remained silent but the needles slowed down.

“Then when you went to the safest person you know, your mother! She suppressed your voice. She chose her self-respect over your cries.”

The needles multiplied.

Those words drifted me to that moment, when my mother looked at me and spoke, “stay quiet” … quiet this word was much painful that ‘ the slap, punch, that kisses on my neck, that hand pulling my hair, that hand that moved from my face to my breast, that cloth stuffed in my mouth, him removing me clothes, my screaming, that pain, tears’                                                                                                                                                               I remember from that day I became a broken soul nobody even bothered to help me as my mind screamed it was all your bhul.

“You asked ‘Was that my fault,’ I said, ‘your fault not at all’

I remained silent.

“But there was a fault… not ‘why you went there’, not ‘why you let him close’, ‘what you wore’, ‘why you didn’t say no’, not why you went home being unpure’ – but the only fault was “why you remained silent for all these years?”

Needles stabbed me and moved through my veins, the pain so much that the suffocation of the pain figure seemed just like a pinch.

Those pain, tears turned into a guilt that flowed through my whole body making numb all that I could feel.

“Now you feel it, now you want to speak, now u feel the guilt.” “–it should have happened before. Now is late as you have to accept your fate… you sat and asked me every day the question ‘Was that my fault?’ – You made me say , “your fault not at all.” For this was what you wanted to listen but knew the words were transpaent.                                                                                                            

I wanted you to find it by yourself, my work is done, it’s been long time being petrified but your soul is free don’t let the Pain figure kill it bit by bit. Save it! For if you let it die, at that moment if you shall ask, “Was that my fault?” the only thing you will feel is not my voice but a feeling agreeing your thoughts.