Poetry/ true story

I dreamed that night

Of blood spattered red

I heard

“ No one will hear your screams!

You’ll be dead!”

I woke and slid out of bed

One millimeter each step.

Tossed my shirt over my arm

As the floor creaked an alarm

But he lay still

As I crept

My photo

Propped up on the window ledge

A photoshoot I’d always regret.

Hours before

It was a fairytale land

We’d traveled for hours

To a long grassy path

That took us far far back

To his one room shack

My feet still black

From the unswept floor

His mattress there in the back corner.

I recall this thought:

I must be special

So special

That this beautiful man

Who I’d only just met

With the unusual name

Ahmet

His fancy jeep

All the money he said!

Yet,

We lay here now on this filthy bed.

I was fascinated by his black hair

Covering his muscled chest

My hand rested there.

His fingers round my wrist

Tightly he lay sleeping my arm in a fist.

I was lured there

By such charm

And finesse

My mother even captivated

By

Ahmet

So different from the old man

From my past

But the same

In the fact

I was again

Trapped.

I peeled back each finger

One by one

Slowly slipping out from under his thumb

It was almost dawn

But too dark still to see

So I moved ever so slowly

My feet snagging on the splintered

Wood floor

Barely breathing

Through his lair

Only in my underwear

As the floor creaked again

I froze there.

What fun you two will have

As my mom wished us well

And I laughed while he drove me

Unknowingly to hell.

Slow motion my mind moved

Through the previous days

How he’d brought me here

In a whirlwind of a haze.

Sweat was dripping down my back

Falling onto my legs

The door knob spun

My hands were so wet.

I hadn’t made it out yet

When he rose his head

I knew,

I just knew,

I’d soon be dead.

I used my shirt to open the door

Leaving it ajar

I ran on dead legs

To my cheaply bought

Pray it would start,

Car.

I heard

Ping

Ping

Ping

As my ears started to ring

I saw the birds

But they did not sing

I saw the wind

But I felt no breeze.

I looked out the window

Bark flew from the tree

His bullets all missing me.

In the mirror

As I fled

I saw a brief glimpse of

Ahmet

Standing with his dark haired chest

Pointing his gun at my head.

It was then I noticed…

All the leaves

In the trees…

Look painted

In blood spattered

Red.

20 thoughts on “Poetry/ true story

    • Thank you, usually the words flow right out but this one I actually wanted to relive every moment of that event so that i could put it behind me. It has haunted me for a long time. Now I get to let it go. After I wrote it I read it which I usually don’t do and I thought, wow, what a life I have had. Thank you for commenting on my poetry and life

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, in my experience, if I can get it down on paper, I can let go more easily and quit reliving it in my head. Plus writing forces a kind of logic onto the memory and helps you see it more dispassionately, don’t you think?

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      • Oh yes. It puts everything in such a clear perspective for me. Everything I can write with emotion but then view it from the physical part and action of it and see all sides. It allows me to disconnect from it and see it as an event that happened that I can release. I minimized that particular event for years. Then I let it scare me. Now I can finally write about it as it is more of..this is what happened. I’m grateful I survived. Moving on…

        Liked by 1 person

  1. My anxiety grew with every creek, with every footstep closer to that door. And whoa! I read ‘gun’ and my hand flew up to my head and I said “oh my god.” My chin on my chest with such…Idk, shock? Disbelief? Fear for the person going through it as if it were happening presently. What a nightmare.

    BUT…it’s such great poetry. That seems weird to say given the premise but it can’t be ignored. It’s riveting. I read the comments too so it’s a relief to read that you are okay now from this.

    Like

    • I was hoping I could write it in a story like way and go back and forth in my mind from before the incident to when it was happening and really feel it as I wrote it. I’ve had night mares about him for years and it bothered me that I so willingly went to his house. It bothers me that someone who tried to shoot me is still out in the world somewhere.
      As i was writing it I kept thinking wow I have had a truly fucked up life. And so i sit here and i think and i wonder about where I could have ended up and what could have happened to me and then i think it’s all so surreal that any of it did happen at all and that I’m just sitting here writing about it.
      I’m really glad you liked the way I wrote it.
      I’ve never really spoken about what happened that night in fact I can’t remember what happened after. Where I went or what i did. It’s all jumbled up. But the incident itself i remember vividly.
      I even remember I had just met him at my house the day before. He was from the virgin islands. I vaguely remember him yelling at me that I had cheated on him or something. But I’d only known him a few days. Anyway, i hoped once i wrote about it i would just forget about him all together but strangely as the night goes on i am remembering more about that time in my life that i had totally forgotten.
      Just weird. It’s all so weird.
      With the ptsd and trauma memory blanks and the the seizure weirdness of short term memory issues it is always almost refreshing to remember something vividly but not ahmet. He was so evil.
      I don’t think id ever seen a gun before. So my brain just recalls everything about it and the sound it made and the ping as it hit my car. Seeing my photograph. It’s like a bad dream that you want to wake up from but it was real.
      Thanks for reading. Sorry i’ve been out of the loop. I have been struggling with many things

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      • Yeah, that’s probably something you either blank out because it’s so traumatic or remember vividly so much of the details. I can’t even imagine being shot at. Give me anxiety just thinking about it.

        How old were you? I can’t believe your mom was just like, yeah, have fun with a stranger daughter. Depending on your age, I don’t think my mother would’ve been much different about it. She may not have liked it or even pretended to, but she would not have attempted to stop me I don’t think. I “dated” a 38/39 year old when I was 16 so… (Of course I wouldn’t really call it dating but what else do you call it.)

        Thank God you made it out of there though. Thank God.

        I can relate to the part on not remembering what you did after but just that incident. It is weird when that happens. I have memories like that too.

        Do you think it would work/help you put him out of your mind if you did that thing where you change the outcome in your story?

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      • I also dated a man in his 30’s with a 3 year old when I was around 18. My parents liked him. Looking back i would be mortified. If my daughter did that. No freaking way!!!
        I was 17or 18 with this guy but I don’t know how old he was.
        I will put him out of my mind for sure. The outcome of the story ended up well. Although i could change it to where i never went with him in the first place i think all in all it was just that time period. There were many men. I was drifting and lost and scared and very unsafe. I had no safe place. So it was just the entire time i wish i could erase

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      • ” I had no safe place. So it was just the entire time i wish i could erase.” I can relate to that. Some things I would like to have that memory eraser MiB had.

        Although I’m not a mom, there is no way I would be so non-chalant about my daughter at 16 being with a 38 year old.

        I told my parents about it but they didn’t know him. It says a lot when the kid knows that dating a 38 year old (the age my mother was at the time) isn’t normal and wouldn’t fly, so doesn’t bring him home to meet the parents.

        That’s the guy that my friend’s mother told her that “she needs help” meaning mental help, being derogatory. Instead of getting me real help though it was something to gossip about with her daughter.

        Anyway, I told my parents one night at dinner about the almost 40 year old. My mother said nothing. My father said in a really angry tone, “Well don’t do that anymore.”

        I don’t know about you but I didn’t know too many 16 year olds who would’ve listened to those words and I didn’t either. I kept sneaking around with him. Very sick. The guy had four kids himself which included a couple daughters and a son who was my age. smh.

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      • Oh I remember that comment that your friend’s mother said without actually doing anything. That was awful. Actually the man dating you needed some prison time and you needed someone who actually gave a shit about you.
        Yep. Would love to erase it all.
        I sent you an email. Not sure I sent it to the right one though

        Liked by 1 person

  2. So powerful. I had a lover who got drunk and put a gun to my head. I was moving across the country. He didn’t want me to go, said he couldn’t live without me. I’ll never forget the feeling of the muzzle against my temple. I punched him so hard in the face that it stunned him. I ran to my car, sped home, picked up my cats and checked into a motel. I was leaving the next day. My car was already packed. I’d never been so terrified.

    Like

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