There Is Strength in Our Stories: I Will Rise – Layla Summers

I can still feel his hands on me
Grabbing too roughly
Holding too tightly
Leaving a lingering sting
Long after the slap on the face

I can still hear his begging
The pure disappointment
No -that’s too kind a word-
The disguised fury
When I said no to sex

I can still feel it
How he decided to fuck me anyway
How he kissed me
Making me gag on his tongue
How he’d bite my neck
How he’d do anything
Until I gave up

I can still feel it
His jaws clenched way too tight
On my breasts

I can still hear him
Sounding so pleased
So thrilled with himself

He was my first true
“Relationship”
And yet I was his prisoner
His plaything

I vividly remember the last time
I remember the rage in his eyes
Because I didn’t want to have sex
5 days before my birthday,
The anniversary of the first time I was raped
At twelve years old,
But he didn’t care
And he fucked me anyway
Because I’d “been doing fine”

What he doesn’t know
Is I am a Phoenix
And I will rise from the ashes
Of my broken self


I am a poet, author, and playwright. I have been writing for almost seven years as a way to cope with my traumas and bipolar disorder. Now I use my writing to show others they are not alone. My writing can be found on Wattpad under HealingTatteredWings. By overcoming the past, we can do more than survive. We can all thrive together. My heart goes out to all those who need someone there for them.

Tale of the midnight tresses/Shreya Singh

Untitled

A long time ago,

Scuffling, mumbling through fractions of trenches
She glued herself in a crispy pose
Sounds and rumbles from down the attic stairwell
The barber’s scissors awaited her past the closet door

And in another world, time undated
Unbidden they chased down that daunting lane
I cried to fear for the filthy tale
The ugly truth men wanted to paint

The barber found her aghast and stiff
Wearing smile of pride and thirst for tress
And dragged her down, those wicked steps
To drop her locks into dust and mess

While men I saw now environment me now
Three, now, four shadows in raven coats
Crooked smiles, umlawfully disguised rendezvous
They pounced on me in whiskey scent and haunting sores

A lock now two, till all strands fell,
Little girl herself was left with few
For all the beloved hair she had
Now were sand and salt alike, untrue

They grabbed my breasts, and stole of chastity
With bites and bruises to rot unclothed
No spare, no beg, no prayer unsaid,
Yet the four dark men crawled, cut then smoked.

The little lass saw mother pay him a hefty note
The villianous barber to her wasn’t cold and insane
But she knew more from the attic closet
When he grabbed her tight by her ponytail

And “hush, hush”, Maa said to me
Forget the night that left me scarred
For world might tag me “unworthy, impure”
And men are mem since times untold

Her mother gave her a candy floss, that resembled those fallen curly locks
She wore a scarf, into a daring panache
At the cheval preparinv for the classmates’ mocks.

I too stood watching my cursed reflection,
“Not too long, dear,” said the knife i held
It pierced a slit in my fragile wrist
No sound, no cry, the eyes expelled

The lass at last smiled at herself
Through the mirror that watched me bleed to death
And now through me the little girl escaped the barber
As drop by drop life sipped its last breath


Hi , my name is Shreya & I’m a 19 year old girl , trying to fix a few words here and there, bleeding my love and vain through them. I’m a new bloomer and hopefully trying my luck. I also write blogs. My blogs are based on generic philosophical and psychological topics. I hope you like this and please do check out my blog page The Solivagant Vibe