By an anonymous poet
When I reached my teenage years I realized that I had two very real fears.
The first: drowning in the ocean.
The second: being raped.
I assumed at the time that both of them would feel quite similar.
The initial struggle – the human instinct to survive.
The inevitable pull below the surface where the thrusting waves would become too overwhelming and I would feel the air escaping my lungs.
Then the intense uncertainty and the confusion derived by my own ignorance – “that kind of thing could never happen to me”.
The last gasp of air; the last roar of a wave.
Noticing the glint of light and life fade further and further from my reach.
Finally; the end. Dark and hollow and exhausted and broken.
I imagined that I would feel broken.
Now as I have grown older I have slowly come to terms with the fact that one of my biggest fears has come true.
It was not how I thought it would be. It was not a man in a dark alleyway. It was not a yell and a scream for help or a weapon to my throat. It was not anything I expected. And for a while, I didn’t believe the truth of it. I didn’t and couldn’t believe that one of my biggest fears had become real.
And I was not wrong.
About the End…
I was not wrong.
Dark. Hollow. Exhausted.
I think I would have preferred the ocean.