Some days, you get a little numb to the human trafficking thing. After hearing so many stories about rape you become insensitive to its cruelty. But other days, you aren’t so numb. You feel a little more than you want to. You feel haunted by memories that aren’t even your own. You lay in bed and cry for an hour because the world is a broken place.
Over the summer I met a girl who had been trafficked by her parents. I will call her Anna. She is a heartbreaker, but not in the usual sense. Listening to her talk will break your heart every time. I have never met anyone who has suffered so much as Anna.
She writes a lot of poetry. We’ve been emailing back and forth recently because I wanted to include some of her words in my project. Last night she sent me the following poem with an explanation to go with it. I have edited a few details in order to maintain anonymity, but I wanted to share it with all of you because she asked to be heard.
I hope I don’t overwhelm you with what I’m about to say but I would like to explain it. I have been dealing with a really hard memory. One that I could never speak about for two reasons, one being that I was scared and the other because I blamed myself. It is a tough one from when I was eight. There was another girl at one of the houses [where I was raped]. She was nine and her name was Brigitte. I would have to go [to be used for sex] on the weekends. The first time I met Brigitte, she was crying and he kept beating her. Somehow, I managed to save her by pushing her off the bed and taking her place. Although, the third weekend at that particular house, there were three guys. They choked her. I tried to save her but I was knocked unconscious, only to wake and find them carrying her out of the room. She died and they buried her under cement. She had no one and to remember this is still extremely sad. I try to remember the good moments we did manage to have. Like, spinning in circles in the backyard and falling in the grass. Her laughter was precious. I’m sorry if this is upsetting. I wrote a poem and I believe it would be nice to include her in your magnificent art work. I hope you like it, it is a bit long.Saving BrigitteDeath becomes her.The concrete grave waiting.Refusing to just go dancing.That evil howls,The earth shakes.Leaving only two little girls,With only our souls to take.
She cries,As if it would freeze time.Icicles fall nearby.Why all the lies?Just wanting to hide.Only to reach out from the inside,Fist held high.Knocked unconscious by surprise.Only to wake and find.Her body being carried out to die.Three men taking a limp, lifeless soul.As if that was their goal.Finding myself to fold.Searching for her.Finding her in a dark room.Holding her,Only to feel the cold.Tears fell,Hearing my words yell.Wanting her to wake from this hell.Covering her with a blanket,Crossing her arms.Failing to make any improvement.But not wanting to leave her side.Kissing her forehead,To say good bye.Left to question,Why couldn’t I have died?That grave calls her name.Yearning for her to know,There is no shame,For you to frame.Now it’s up to me,To play the game.These menAre the ones that are insane.Three against one.Hands around my neck.Wanting the pain to fade.Only, to remember yesterday.How I wanted to protect her.Only to fail,Letting their evil continue to howl.Only to realize,That wasn’t their win after-all.For seeing her soul,She still holds.Knowing,It will continue to grow bold.The seeds left in my chest.Waiting for something other than death.Giving in to only my breath.Fighting back,They release.Listening to only my heartbeat.Realizing,Her heart is still entwined.I’m holding her heart with mine.Those feelings continue to press.But her smile is no longer,Buried in that dress.She helped me overcome death.Her soul is finally at rest.We will forever be sisters,In life and death.She will always be my angel of night.Together we will hold the light.