Poem-- Fear

@GlisteningEmbers

Your words weave a gentle tapestry of life, if being betrayed, hurt and often not seen.

The worries of what's to come.

Its natural, captivating and hauntingly sad, thanks for trusting us to let us in 💜💕

GlisteningEmbers: I don’t know your background, but it sounds like you have been through a lot. You are doing a brave thing to openly express your goals and your fears. The poem was truly heartfelt. Wishing you the best. 😊😊❤️😊

I finished the poem. 

"What Were You Wearing?"

I miss those days.

I miss those days when I could be afraid of something and be assured that it isn't real.

I miss the days when I didn't have to check under my car, cover my cup at a crowded restaurant, or check under the stalls of a public restroom to make sure a man isn't hiding in there to take me.

I miss the days when I wanted a tattoo for the pure design of it, and for the artistic form of a design being inked into my skin for the rest of my life.

I miss the days when my desire for a tattoo was driven by decorating the temple that I call my body, but now, the ink that will pierce the dermis of my wrist will be a permanent stain that drives sexual predators away from the appeal to prey on me.

They say that traffickers are less likely to take young ladies who are already branded with a seal of identification.

I miss when my biggest fear was a bee sting or the headless horse from My Little Pony.

But now as I grow older, my fears grow much larger than being late to third period or giving a presentation in front of my classmates.

I would say that I long for the days where I no longer need to fear the possibility of being groomed by much older men, but my fears only grow.

Will I ever get married?

If I get married, will I be able to bear my own children?

If I'm able to bear my own children, will I be able to financially support the children I bear?

If I'm financially able to support my children, how will I teach them the dangers of this world without instilling fear into them, or make them constantly look over their shoulder?

Will I be able to love my children without turning into a monster?

Will I become their monster?

I miss those days where finding love was as easy as losing a glass slipper or selling my voice to an underwater sea witch.

I miss being a child.

When I was a child, I didn't fear death or what comes after.

In my heart, I knew I would go to Heaven.

But now, I fear the day I could possibly hear the words leave my savior's mouth and say, "I never knew you, depart from me."

And what about my sister? My mom? My dad? My friends? Will I see them when I die?

And what about this life on Earth?

Will the word "no" be enough for the next man I let into my life?

And the clothes I wear.

They conceal my figure.

If the shape of my figure can't be seen from underneath my clothing, then I won't have to pay the price for what he wants to steal.

Only clothes don't matter.

We see it every day, that it doesn't matter.

If it's in his nature, then he'll take what doesn't belong to him regardless of external coverings.

Yet it's still a question today.

"What were you wearing?"

Should I fear the danger of the evil men of the world?

Or should I fear the absurdity of the stupid questions that are still being asked today?

The questions of my fear grips me like the feeling of strong fingertips that once pierced my thigh, and my throat.

Grasping for air.

Why is this feeling still here?

Will it ever go away?

Am I really afraid or is it my own thoughts that's mongering fear deep in my lungs?