She had never dug a hole before.
She had heard people speak of it,
allude to it,
laugh about it.
But she did not
want
to dig a hole.
She became friends
(or so she thought)
with a boy
who wanted to dig a hole,
she said no.
He took a shovel
anyway
and gave her one, too.
They started digging,
him faster and stronger than her,
but she could not stop.
She did not know why.
She could not seem to hear her
thoughts
or find her
voice
over the sound of his shovel.
The hole was dug too fast.
The first strike of the shovel was the
worst.
The ground was broken,
it could
not be returned to its
original, untouched surface.
He was gone.
She was alone,
and scared,
and humiliated.
She just wanted to hide
her blood covered hands,
wounds that went deeper than
anyone could see.
Her exhausted body and mind
felt the shame of the world.
Trapped with no where to go.
She was stuck in the hole
that was too deep
for her to climb out of
on her own.
So she pretended
she was fine
and that her smile was real.
She tried to forget about
the hole.
Hoping no one would ask
or find out
or see that she could barely breathe.
Calluses from a shovel too big
covered her wounds.
A remembrance of what could
never be undone.
If only…
But maybe someday she will dig
another hole.
With time
and patience
and love
and the whole will be filled
with dreams.
Not pain.
About:
This poem is intentionally vague. Alluding to sexual assault, abandonment, and depression, this poem is intended to make one think while also connecting with a broad audience.
About the Creator
Hope Hack
Just a girl who loves Jesus and writing.
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