Saturday, October 12, 2013

Survivor's Poem: Teen Student Jenni Truth

Stories From The Road
October 12, 2013

This blog isn't mine but Hers. Hers is a story in the slip stream of cast-away kids. The bullied. The shamed. The kids encouraged to vanish from the planet.

She has tried.
She has failed.
I am grateful for this failure.

Because now she is a survivor and survivors who choose to live have stories. Stories that can motivate, educate and ignite the right to be heard.

I met Her on a tour stop in California. She came to me after a workshop and asked for recommendations for books on surviving rape and abuse for a classmate who was reluctant to ask. She didn't ask for anything for herself. I made an effort to come back to the school with books that dealt with these tough issues along with copies of FAT ANGIE donated by Candlewick Press. She expressed her passion for writing poetry, and I encouraged her to connect with something when she was ready.

She reached out via Facebook with the below message and poem this weekend. She said I could share her name, but I'm opting for a nickname. We'll call her Jenni Truth. Ms. Truth is a brave young woman who has seen more darkness than any young person should. But she is here. Alive. Showing up.

She wants to be counted and empower others through her story. And I say rock the heck on!

Ms. Truth said, "mind you everything i write comes from my past and im trying to help girls who have hard times with rape and suicide, so my attempts stopped when i came to the school. now i wanna let everyone know they're not alone and that anything can change and i cant make my past go away but i know i can make my future better and thanks to u i wanna make a book of poems that can help people through what i went through and help them get stronger."

by Jenni Truth (nick name)

A price paid 
Closed are my sunken eyes 
Tears gracefully crawl down my face 
I take another straight shot of whiskey 
As my head starts to race 
The cigarette is still burning 
And the sweet smoke tickles my nose 
My body is going numb 
I can no longer feel my toes 
I can see my black mascara tears 
As they fall onto my breast 
There are scratches and dried blood 
Pretty purpled bruised decorate my chest 
My red lipstick smeared 
And my hair in knots 
I shove more pills in my mouth 
Chasing it with three more shots 
My body is beyond broken 
My mind completely lost 
A lesson with a price 
Myself an expressive cost 
He was to strong to heavy 
I couldn’t get him off of me 
With his hand over my mouth 
I kept screaming to stop 
His cold eyes just watched me 
As I fought hard and cried 
He crushed my soul over and over again 
As he thrusted deeper inside 
The world slowly went dark 
From the fight and pain 
I woke up bloody and dirty
From the sound of the rain 
Now the bottle is empty 
And the room spins 
I put a razor to my wrist 
And rip across my skin 
The blood paints the floor 
Everything is slowing down 
The darkness is back again 
And it’s now all around 
The cigarette still burns 
As the smoke does an exotic dance 
It moves so slow and graceful 
Putting me in a trance 
There’s an empty whiskey bottle
A cigarettes burning and a note 
The blood is coloring the white paper red 
Where “I’m sorry” is faintly wrote.

Suicide is not an option. If you're a young person reading this, YOU MATTER. This poem is about a time when Ms. Truth thought she didn't. She is a survivor and wants you to know someone has been there and come out the other side.

It may sound lame but if you are thinking about suicide, call the hotline above. Visit their website to get an online chat. Reach out to a friend, family member, school counselor or a trusted teacher. Suicide is the real deal, and it's forever.

No more body bags.

You are never counted out! Live.

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