Disinterred

I believe you…

Buried for decades, comes a time

to heal yourself from the cancer

that day-by-day eats away

pieces of the person you once were.

Don’t listen to those who question your motives

that scream “fake news”

as if to say that it's okay

to lust after a 14 year old

or force the hand of a 16 year old

to justify their own perversions.

I believe you…

I know that there are certain truths

invisible to naked eyes

that take the innocence of youth.

Even those who know you best

might never know or realize

that you felt you were to blame—

inside bleeding from the shame.

I believe you…

For every Weinstein, Trump or Moore

are other unknown predators

ones with little the cash or fame

that prey upon the vulnerable.

Their victims each recall their name,

and every look and every leer—

how vivid still their face remains.

I believe you…

Those who choose to speak up now

who’ve forged ahead despite the cost;

it can’t make up for time that’s passed

or what was taken, what was lost;

the naysayers may ridicule,

but those who’ve been there know the truth.

I believe you…

Though by the past we’re not defined

at times its shadow lingers on.

We should not let it blight our soul.

The truth should never be confined—

admission waits, long overdue:

I add my voice and say

          “Me too”

© Ginny Brannan 2017