Welcome to the Poetic Resurrection podcast where we explore perceptions.
How self-reflecting questions can give you a better understanding of self.
I'm your host,
Sonia Iris Lozada.
Stay tuned.
Yesterday I was honored to once again interview Luis J.
Rodriguez for an upcoming episode on Poetic Resurrection.
We spoke for about two hours and we had an amazing conversation about many subjects,
Including sexual abuse.
Being a survivor of this,
I had written the poem,
The Little Girl,
Featured in my first book,
Inspire Me Raw.
I'm grateful to my parents for being there for me.
It was an experience I thought I had overcome since I could talk about the situation,
But I hadn't.
It wasn't until I wrote the poem that I could release the shame and the trauma I was holding on to.
It served no purpose but to keep me down.
Why would I want to hold on to that?
The situation is that we sometimes don't know we're still holding on to the past.
It has a way of showing up as a trigger and that's when I knew I had to work on letting go.
I don't believe in forgive and forget.
Yes,
I can't forgive,
But I'm not going to forget.
You learn to forgive them and forgive yourself for holding on to so much pain throughout your life.
I've noticed many survivors talk about their experience and I wanted to do the same.
I just wrote from the perspective of the child because the child doesn't understand.
And now the poem,
The Little Girl,
From Inspire Me Raw.
The little girl walks to school,
Tenements line gray streets.
She does well in school.
Her five-year-old stature shows resistance and strength.
Drawings of prismic colors joyingly adorn her face,
Hesitant to show teacher.
Waiting for praise,
Teacher questions.
She understood but couldn't answer.
Teacher screams at her,
Points to disappear into the sea of movable desk.
She gazes at her tattered shoes.
Her friend speaks English,
She does not.
Colorless teacher was unkind to the little girl who only speaks Spanish.
Tears flow down her face,
She hides the teasing kids.
Goes home,
Keeps to herself,
Pretends to be an actress living in a world that wasn't her own,
Only hearing voices of a different land.
Citizens we are,
But not considered same.
Pretending so young to be okay,
Her seven-year-old friend says she wanted to play.
A store basement,
Dark and clammy.
Her friend gazes on while she screams,
It hurts,
Why did you do this?
A teenage boy took friend's innocence and now he's taken the little girl's,
Her soul and worth,
But she doesn't understand.
The store owner saves her atop soaring stairs.
Bold voice of disgust vibrates the crypt.
Boy halts,
He runs.
She now rests at home,
A peeling gray wood porch.
Third floor view sits on step,
Sunless hallway,
Looking at the sky so blue.
Doesn't know how she got there,
Minds a haze of events.
Discolored panties,
Hand washed often,
Advertise the status of her little life.
The bandage is trying to hold the innocence lost.
It's too late.
Mom looks at her,
Turns away and cries.
Does she do something wrong?
Sorry you're hurting,
Doesn't know what to do.
I'm sorry mom,
Don't mean to make you cry.
Don't mean to make you cry.
Tears never came to me.
The little girl who didn't understand.
Thank you for listening to the Poetic Resurrection Podcast.
