Time | A Poem About Healing
SEVEN
Samantha Nagel
TW: sexual assault, rape, body image
I can count on my hands how many years it’s been since my rape.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
This year it will be
Seven.
Once I heard that every seven years,
The body is made up of new cells,
The body is an entirely new body.
Does that mean this year,
I will have a body that was never touched by my rapist?
Does that mean that this year,
I get to wear new skin?
This year my organs don’t reek of rape.
It’s like getting a whole new wardrobe,
One that you never asked for,
But it feels like a gift when you open your closet.
When this year’s anniversary comes,
I will caress my arms with my new fingerprints,
I will kiss my knees with my rejuvenated lips.
Welcome, I will whisper to my reflection,
Welcome to the Earth, my beautiful new body.
When it comes,
I don’t feel happy.
How do I describe disappointment?
It isn’t the body I was raped in,
It’s bigger,
It’s soft,
It’s ugly.
How do I describe disgust?
My body now wears a name tag that my doctor comments on,
That my mother snidely remarks on,
That my friends avoid commenting on.
My body now wears a name tag that says
I have gained fifty pounds.
I used to look in the mirror and see a kicked puppy,
An abused stray.
I used to look in the mirror and see skin and bones
With long blonde hair.
I used to see a girl in the mirror,
One that was sexy in the way that all young girls are:
Sinful.
Now I see the round cheeks of a woman,
The curve of a midsection,
The bloom of strong thighs.
How do I describe fat?
My new cells are not what I imagined,
It took me months to rewrite my name tag.
I have gained fifty pounds
Has now turned in to
I have lost abusive relationships,
I have lost fear and shame,
I have lost the indentation in my hands that
My keys leave when I clutch them like a dagger in the shadows of the parking lot.
I have gained fifty pounds
Has now turned in to
I have gained back pleasure in my taste buds,
I have gained beautiful relationships,
I have gained a smile that reaches the iris of my eyes
Instead of barely showing my teeth.
My name tag no longer reads a victim,
And it no longer reads a defender either.
To be quite honest with you,
I don’t know what it reads.
The last time I saw my name tag, I threw it in a fire pit
And watched it burn,
The flames reminded me to embrace my new cells.
How do I describe self acceptance?
