I'm Sorry

These words aren’t what I’m supposed to say.

I know they are not what I’m supposed to feel.

But they’re stuck. And they’re escaping in the worst possible ways.

I’ve put them here, because I don’t know how else I can heal.

I’m sorry.

It was me.

I taught him.

I left him.

It’s my fault. I let him be.

He wouldn’t have hurt you,

If it wasn’t for me.

I taught him.

I was ill.

Through me, he learned he liked the ill.

He liked the weak.

He liked the ones who wouldn’t say no.

He liked the ones who couldn’t say no.

You manipulated me. He told me.

You hurt me. He said.

This is your fault. I know.

“Yes. I am saying that child abused me”

'It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem it’s me.'

It’s always been me.

It’s always been my fault.

I was small. I was ill. My body was a girl’s.

And so, he discovered, he liked girls bodies.

I’m the reason those children screamed.

I’m the reason his hands were round your neck.

I’m the reason those mothers cried.

I’m the reason his knife pressed into your flesh.

I’m sorry.

If I could go back I’d eat everything.

I’d stop my body being that small.

I’d stop him learning.

I’d stop him touching.

He would never know.

If I could go back.

I’d stay with him.

I’d make sure he didn’t touch you.

I’d make sure he didn’t hurt you.

I’d take the hits. I’d use the beads. I’d wear the collar.

I’d stop him.

I should have stopped him.

I’m sorry.

Don’t ask if I’m ok. Because I’m not.

Don’t ask why I shared this. Because I don’t know.

But no matter how many people tell me that the opposite is true,

This weight still hangs within me. And I can’t live with it alone.