Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: sexual abuse

  • The Stars Fall From The Firmament

    The Stars Fall From The Firmament

    The Stars Fall From The Firmament

    The stars fall from the firmament in a whirling dance
    I want to lose the capability to desire
    I only want to dream of being set free from my passions
    And wander away
    Flying fairy
    Like a butterfly in a garden of violets and lilies
    I live a silent life made of poetry and books
    I communicate with people through my poetry
    The rest of the time, I am silent
    My silence can say many things or absolute nothing
    It depends on the sensibility of the others
    I might appear a cold person because I am timid
    I try to protect myself from men who have so much interest in me
    Interest that I don’t reciprocate
    It is challenging for me to have an enjoyable time outside
    It is like I don’t have any right to take a simple walk
    Being constantly bothered in the streets.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Scent Of My Dreams

    The Scent Of My Dreams

    The Scent Of My Dreams

    The scent of my dreams is like a Chopin nocturne
    The sumptuous and opulent scent of tuberose and jasmine surround me
    Impregnating my body and my hair
    And I dream of being away in a place where I can feel protected
    Forgetting everything and everyone
    All the old and abusive memories would disappear
    Finally, I would be free from intrusive thoughts and flashbacks
    Sometimes I thought that I deserved every kind of anguish
    Just because I would feel at peace with myself and with my oppressors
    I never needed their love and attention as I thought
    Nevertheless, they needed me.
    Esther Racah

  • Like A Porcelain Doll

    Like A Porcelain Doll

    Like A Porcelain Doll

    And it was like in a nightmare
    While I was lying inert on a cold bed like a porcelain doll
    I could not conceive why those things happened for a reason
    Maybe I was too naive to realise such closeness
    Perhaps I was too childish to protect myself
    Letting the submission paralyse my mind

    It never mattered who I really was
    It never mattered what I really desired
    Because the most important thing was social etiquette and fulfilled other’s desires
    I had to embellish myself like a porcelain doll
    I had to smile with my elegant dresses and impeccable makeup devotedly
    Some pretty bow in my long blond hair and a sumptuous dress as a daily routine

    I was empty, and I could not find myself
    Being constantly busy to be submissive and amiable
    Exhausted and broken
    I was never good enough
    And then, I had to lose myself
    Becoming who I was expected to be

    The echo of my silence was loud in my mind
    The only place where I was feeling safe
    Respect and love were remote chimaeras
    The coldness around me was freezing my heart
    My feelings being trapped in a desperate endeavour to be loved
    And trying to piece together scattered fragments of myself.
    Esther Racah

  • The Cold Humiliation

    The Cold Humiliation

    The Cold Humiliation

    The cold humiliation
    The freezing of my body
    My body like a dead leaf
    In pain and humiliation
    Amid blood and shreds
    I wanted to forget
    I tried to wash away the shame
    I never spoke
    The silence was my way to pretend that nothing happened
    And that I deserved it
    As a punishment for my submission
    A silent acceptance of the pain and desecration
    The blood was like the quiet lament of my body
    Violated and shredded in pieces
    Beauty and femininity as frailty
    The desire to be outside a violated body
    The dream to fly far away from this physical world
    The pain became the awareness of low self-esteem
    I’m exposing myself, showing my pain
    My weakness and disgrace are my witnesses
    I’m not afraid of being judged
    Afflicted by mortification
    I was, and I am broken
    Torn to shreds
    The cry of pain is a loud echo
    Which is always inside me.
    Esther Racah

  • My Guilt

    My Guilt

    My Guilt

    I lived many lives
    As many as it’s possible
    I’ve visited so many places
    Different countries with different cultures
    I met so many people I can barely remember
    However, sometimes I’ve made terrible encounters
    With usurpers exploiting my innocence and beauty
    They were emotional predators and abusers
    My guilt was my beauty
    My guilt was my uniqueness
    My guilt was my innocence
    My guilt was my naiveness
    I  trusted them
    I’ve been torn apart
    Without apology
    Without pity
    Without humanity
    Without morality
    In their opinion, those were the ways to love
    The abuses were standing behind a fake effigy of love
    A love made of crimson and sinister tones
    A love made of manipulations
    A love made of abuses
    A love made of pains
    Being my soul and my body ripped to pieces
    I feel a survivor and a relic of my old self.
    Esther Racah

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