Alter Ego

Speak! Open your mouth!

My throat is dry. I’m giving the mic to my alter ego. Welcome, Cassie.

I am that shy girl cradling herself in corners. I refuse to speak.

Why so shy? Speak!

My mouth forms voiceless words. I tread through life in fear.

But this timid girl isn’t afraid to vocalize.

Thoughts fill my mind. Rather than verbalize,

I write. Pages overflow with unspoken memories of that ice-cold word: abuse.

Seven years takes time to repress. They won’t vanish. These violations.

Chapped lips and stiff vocal cords prevent speech;

But open wide the door to memory. On Middleton;

Sits a vacant house to most. But, to a survivor, a custom-made hell.

A small bungalow sits in the shadows of that hollow road;

A quiet street that stole my right to free speech.

Ten years in the Heights of Cleveland;

But I can’t bring myself to return for a moment’s glance. MIDDLETON

Reads the green sign with white letters. This place is also home to my confidante.

A tiny square room with windows bleeding light from the outside.

The unlawful use of compulsion to force a person to have sex; molestation

Isn’t easy to see on paper or hear in speech. He kept things quiet at home;

Fearful that one day the sirens would be in pursuit of his illegal freedom.

I’ve lost touch with the notion of justice.

I’m full of stories to tell

But my voice has a new master; its name is abduction.

Intense is the level life exists in for the character of my mind; Cassie

Knows nothing more than the drama created by her past. Cassie

Is defined by the longing in her heart to forget this trauma.

Greater than these is the desire to vanquish the fear;

To demolish the overriding trepidation.

Someone controls this marionette; he goes by the name of anxiety.

I’ve forgotten what life is like outside the realm of ‘that poor girl.’

Three years since the enlightenment and I still dream in nightmares.

This padlock in my chest lacks the key to free me.

These anxieties stem from that wretched house on Middleton;

The birthing place for the worst kind of agitation.

Thoughts that stampede through my mind are determined by my heart’s uneasiness.

I’ve written a book full of words I would proclaim

If I had the courage to rise above these frightful fits.

The dissention I face on a daily basis makes me hate this ongoing terror.

Why can’t I learn to be more like Cassie?

Why can’t my reality be as strong as her fictional existence?

I envy Cassie’s ability to conquer my demons.

I regret that I made her stronger than myself.

I covet her ability to stand up as the strong individual I crave to find within.

I wish I possessed the ability to overcome seven years of being attacked.

The same way as Cassie.

I find myself admiring the strength of character I created in her.

Despite her upbringing in the same city, and same house,

She refuses to give herself over to the control of her past in that abyss.

This figment,

Has changed something within. I’ve been fearful on my own

to let the world know my story. But, I’ve found a new voice.

My brittle vocal cords have a fresh sound.

The turmoil of silent suffering has given birth to Cassie;

The remedy to my fears.

I can now say the words out loud: I. was. Raped.

What began in that bungalow will end where I belong.