Men have taught me my entire life
That I am inherently of no value.
That it is my body which determines my worth
And if it is of no use to them
Then neither am I.
When I speak of this
Everyone assumes it is poor partners who taught me this.
And while yes,
The abuse I faced as a child at the hands of much older boyfriends
Reinforced this idea,
It was my father who taught me it first.
It was my father who told me
Men will not have me if I do not give my body
(But do not give too much,
Because everyone will fuck a slut
But nobody will marry her).
It was my father who taught me I was of no value,
When he would hit me as punishment for crimes I did not commit,
And the blame would somehow be on me.
My father gave me this lesson
By belittling and humiliating me in front of friends and family.
I learned that being a woman
Makes me less
When he would look down his nose at the women around me.
In truth,
It was my father who set me up for the atrocities committed against me
That my teenage self would allow.
He blames me for my victimhood,
Tells me it is my fault for allowing it,
But is the one who taught me to allow it.
He taught me to allow it
When he would hit me and scream at me
And told me defending myself was disrespect.
He taught me to allow it
Because I am a woman
And women are less.
Unlearning this has been the most difficult part of adulthood.
Teaching myself that my femininity,
Or lack thereof,
Does not make me less.
That I do not deserve abuse for my humanity and mistakes
Simply because my womanhood paints me an easy target.
To hold myself with strength,
To not seek forgiveness for taking my own side.
To not accept screaming and violence as part of my life and relationships.
These lessons are the most difficult I have learned.
Still am learning.
And I only wish my father had taught me these ones instead.
- Author: Spencer Llewellyn ( Offline)
- Published: January 9th, 2023 06:46
- Comment from author about the poem: My father hit me recently, after accusing me of things I did not do. He hit me because telling him I didn't do it was talking back, it was disrespectful. At nearly 20, I stood up, faced him through angry tears, and told him if he ever dared to touch me again, I would kill him. He kicked me out of the house. I wrote this poem, because he raised me the way he did, and that conditioned me to feel guilt for defending myself and crave the forgiveness of men in my life. Writing this reminded me that no, he does not deserve my forgiveness, and I do not need his praise or affection to be worthy.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
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