You got out

(Part of a new series of poems about people whom I have met, who profoundly moved me).

They said

no it’s not a person, it’s a trash bag, or wad of clothing

as I turned the car around

knowing it was a girl, curled into herself

it was for her, the end of a long night

for me, an early morning drive

into rising sun

indigo girl

her limbs thin enough, to resemble twigs

hair colored black, face still-water of a child

she waved us off

no, no, no, I’m fine here

in the fetal position, on the cement

lying by the side of road exhaust

as predator number 10, idles his car and asks

do you want me to take you home

baby?

I press myself to the window glass

no, don’t get in the car!

he looks angry when she says

I’m just taking a nap, goodnight

his lust drives off, leaving fuel staining like road kill

I wonder

what he would have done if

all 90 pounds of her, in tiny shorts and torn top

had accepted his bearly, concealed hunger

how many predators comb

early morning side walks, hoping

to pick up lost girls?

she’s got sense and she also, doesn’t know

but I do

I was her once

crawling out of an abandoned warehouse

knife wounds, waltzing on my throat

cold semen in my belly

clawmarks designating, my survival

bearly

the car that stopped then

a light in darkness

they took me away, from near death

when so easily

I could have been picked up, a second time

a third,

by hands with bad intention

when you are fallen

people often crowd in, to help you

fall again

like wolves who smell

the coming of blood and

vulnerabilities, we think we hide

I told her

don’t get into a car with a lone man, or group of men

they may not show their fangs but

you are a little piece of goodness

sometimes people who prowl, want to hurt

that shining within you

we drove

she was looking out the window

with her unslept eyes and the residue of last night

still high on her pain

and for the first time in my life

I no longer felt a victim

but one of the imaginary horses, I used to ride

speeding away from slick, sales-man, cough

of curb-side prowler

I wanted to make her better

but sometimes you can only

patch and release

to maybe nothing safer than hope

with a few words

wishing, that when she’s sober

waking without assault

she remembers

you were her once

and you got out

 

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35 thoughts on “You got out

  1. Um…. I need you right now….can you go to my blog an read the where is god post. Then can you read the comment by tammi, proclaimed therapist, and can you give your thoughts. I know i’ve never asked this before but you know me. You get me. And i opened myself up to my true vulnerability this morning when i wrote this. Her reply has got me in what i call a “red flag” zone. Soo I have medication for that. I just need you to….I don’t know…be you for me please.

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  2. Speechless!!! You’ve finally done it and have left me dumbstruck!!! My gosh, Candice, this is so brilliant and raw and full of understanding and compassion. And those are such feeble words when one reads something this magnificent! And you think you’re ordinary!!! Do you have any idea how many writers would give everything they have to be able to write like this??? And not to worry, she will remember and it will make a difference in her life. Maybe not now or tomorrow or next week or next year, but you planted a seed and it will gernimate and take root at some point in time. I pray it be so. Damn how I adore you!
    Je t’aime, N πŸ™‚ ❀

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  3. You do realise that you breathe life and hope back into so many dusty unspoken memories shoved into the back of Female (not exclusively) minds, allowing for acceptance and the understanding that our experiences shape who we are and that it is ok to be the girls we once were … you do realise that your beautiful words resonate and if you do not then well, I tell you now πŸ’–

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  4. Ah Cannoball ….never think your words are ever done in this world … never . There is always that next climb that next hill on the horizon to conquer, new vistas to gaze upon that can only be seen through your eyes and laid on paper for us all to see.brightly stark and beautiful at the same time, giving voice to a part of the world that should never remain silent.. ❀

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  5. Yes, my love, I was that girl curled up on the side of the road too…wishing with all my heart that someone like you would come along. Alas, the predators prevailed. Thank you for telling the story of the forsaken girls, preyed upon by monstrosities. (((❀️)))

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  6. Hi.. Candice.. been a while since
    i’ve visited you in your words
    of Poetry.. i still can’t
    get your
    notifications
    but i still haven’t
    forgotten the impact
    your words make on my
    style of writing as i’ve read so
    many of your words and i feel your
    soul still to date heAR.. one of pain
    surely for those who receive what
    others should not take.. the
    World still is overall a
    Pussy Grabbing place..
    Something i didn’t even see until
    18 years old.. i suppose i was and am still
    Lucky for i learned to love a face and eyes
    missing more of what feels below.. it’s true there
    are few love songs left and face to face slow dances
    empathy and compassion is a fading tradition and sometimes
    i miss the old days of innocent that i recreate with seeing more
    than i saw
    before..
    i see these
    girls you speak of
    on the sidewalk of the
    Bar when i leave each night
    mostly in tears and yes curled
    in the fetal position at times
    victim to faces with
    no heART of eYe..
    almost every woman i have known
    in my life has been abused by a man
    and often by a family member too.. not likely
    it’s a fluke and just case study anecdote for so many
    more truths that are kept quiet that are no longer kept quiet now..
    and that’s good that the truth gets out but if a world of rape can advance
    to highest positions of office not much has changed at core of eyes with no heart..
    anyway as always a Battle of the sexes and sexists my Friend a power struggle for love so ironically
    free
    when
    Love Heals
    as you Heal heaR..
    it’s true no matter how
    much it hurts it’s what we give that counts..:)

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Another harrowing tale of those whose pain I cannot even begin to know.. But one of which you dear Candice deliver with empathy and compassion.. Knowing the reality of those dark days and nights..
    I so wish there were more of you, pressing against the glass, shouting out loud NO! And less young vulnerable girls whose fate we dare not even think of..

    Sending you yet more Love dear Candice..
    Sue πŸ’œπŸ’œπŸ’œ

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