The design
of the twine
led us
to your crime
The footprint
there below
showed us
where to go
Your fingerprint
on the door
the blood spatter
your hair
and more
The tooth marks
on her thigh
will direct us
to our guy
A hair that fell
out of your head
the semen
and sweat
on the bed
We can tell
you were there
by the print
of your ear
As you tried to hear
so much more,
lent against
the stained glass door
© Kait King, 2015
Attempt #1
I was two weeks off my 13th birthday – so yeah, I was 12 years old when this happened to me. We lived in South Africa at the time when I was raped, by a 27 year old American man that I sort of knew. That was the first time I thought about killing myself.
I was still thoughtful although quite serious about ending the agony and shame. I couldn’t look at my Mum and Dad the same way – something had changed in me and I wasn’t their lovely little girl anymore. I was damaged, tarnished, broken, tainted – I was dirty and undeserving. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened and how little control I had had over anything that happened to me.
I couldn’t live with that uncertainty at that age. I didn’t want to live a fearful, doubting life! I had been, and should have still been, a carefree, happy twelve year old who loved horses. Now I held secrets, anger, fear and hate. My horse was my savior. I would cry into his mane all the time, feeling so hopeless. We would go for rides for ages or I would just lie on him, or with him, while he grazed in his paddock. He was the only one who knew what happened. And it ate me up.
That was the first time I contemplated suicide. I will tell you how I tried sometime, but that’s another story.
A Survivor
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