Healing Through Art with Made for Survivors

I wrote my first poem when I was in the first grade; it was an ode to my mother done in the style of Langston Hughes’ poem “Friend”. The poem was titled “Lost” and it was my first step on my journey to healing from the grief caused by losing my mother at the age of four. After that day, poetry became my vehicle to be able to channel my emotions and work though times of struggle. Poetry became my heart and then dance became my soul; as I would encounter trials, tribulations and heartaches these two art forms essentially saved my life. After my first sexual assault at the age of 14 poetry restored my essence, not right away of course, but over time as I went through the stages of healing poetry is what took me from one level to the next and when the words would not come dance carried me the distance. I firmly believe in the healing power of art and want this to be a space where survivors can explore their creativity as they are on their healing journey. In this space you will also find art from others and artistic exercises that we will do together that can enhance the healing process. If you have any questions please do not hesitate to contact me at either of my blogs madeforsurvivors or my personal blog joannespurposefuldaughter.

Peace & Blessings,

-L




Letter to a perpetrator

This isn’t a dear John kind of letter

And no it isn’t hare mail either

I chose not to address you simply because

I have no intention of making a habit out of this

I just have one question

How much power and control could you possibly need over an 11-year-old?

As though your age, size, sex and status were not enough

No your manhood, ego and clout in the neighborhood

Were being so severely threatened that you needed more

So you took what you sought, and like a hyena in the wilderness

You found her weakness and debilitated your prey

Unmasking your true self as tears of black Mask-ara painted tell all ink blots

All over your shirt

So distinct and clear that if Rorschach were here, he would tell us

You lack masculinity as a result of too much mommy and no daddy

OR

Having been abused yourself you have now become the abuser

But believe when I tell you this is certainly no excuse

It would seem, however, that society is content with pardoning you

With not holding you accountable for your actions

They have instead resorted to their age old pre-historic backwards logic

That as mother of the nation, it is the female who shall be blamed for everything

That it is her responsibility to nourish, guide, love, protect

To make you feel good about yourself without seeming like a groupie

To be hard to get but not completely out of reach

To be tough but sweet

To be submissive to you her male superior but

to never get caught on her knees

All while boasting the perfect elegance of a delicate yet

Firmly rooted flower

BUT

Here is the deepest secret that everyone knows

Buds that refuse to grow roots in the soiled over

Bed of weeds that are society’s lies

(I mean norms)

Rarely get the chance to blossom

into beautiful unique flowers

Rather they are cut down all too soon

for refusing to continue consuming poison

At times they simply never bloom

out of fear of being strangled by the norms

I mean weeds

Similar to the hands that clasped around throat

When she tried to cry for help

Or the belt that cut off circulation to her hands

So she was unable to fight back

Or finally the taunts, stares and threats that ultimately

Entombed her in her own silence

So I just have one thing to tell you

All that power and control you thought you needed,

She refused to be the one you took it from.

-MadeForSurviors