Trembling Roses

Author’s Note : The following post is extremely special. And by far, the most realistic one that I have had the courage to share. To me it may just be fiction, but to another this is painfully real. I caution you before you proceed – rape is a very sensitive issue. All genders are suffering, equally. If at any point it may seem that I have taken too much of liberty as a writer, I apologize. Read.

Dear Mother,
I know, sometimes it is going to be hard to see through her cracked perfection. But please let her know, whether it is the days she burns like a brilliant sun, or the nights she collapses in your lap, let her know that she is loved. Some things hit harder than death and it is what we have to live with that breaks our heart. Please wipe her tears, and yours too for what happened wasn’t her fault. The world may try to tell you otherwise, but believe me for your daughter’s sake – it wasn’t her fault.
Dear Father,
Today you are a soft man. But your precious is flesh turning into stone, and regret turning into poison. When she stares out the window, coarse her words may be, but each trembling bone in her shaking body is writhing. She had had her lesson in the cruelty of the world. But remind her that you were the man she loved the most. And you have never tried to hurt her. Teach her that there will be days when her shoulders grow rigid, and her lips pursed, but what happened wasn’t her fault.
Dear You,
You are a delicate rose. But you have your thorns to protect you from the lustful stares of a man. You may want to rip off your skin from where his wandering fingers touched you. You may want to bandage all the scars all on your own. But remember, they heal with time, and by the hands of the people who stay – people who have accompanied you to every uncomfortable visit to the clinic, and to every embarrassing interrogation at the police station. They are not afraid of your scars. They are not afraid of the half empty paint tin in the sink, after you’re done painting your clothes black. Your skin may be sandpaper. The roses may be trembling. But you will kiss yourself – each wound, each cut, each scar. You will hold onto yourself like you’re hope. Darling, it never was your fault.
You have lived through the darkest, the most savage storm that there is. You will live.


11 thoughts on “Trembling Roses

  1. As a victim I can tell you healing taking what felt like a lifetime. However, there are only rare moments I think of this day -like now. It still hurts because so much of me was stolen, but it has not destroyed me.

    Liked by 2 people

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