The fear of being raped has been deeply ingrained in me ever since I was a child. I still remember preparing for a school assembly in the primary class, tasked with reading the news. As I sifted through newspapers, I came across horrifying reports of small children—kids like me—being subjected to unspeakable violence. That fear took root in my heart and stayed with me, shaping how I viewed the world and myself as I grew older.
It’s easy to say "not all men," but for someone like me, that fear isn’t abstract. It’s a shadow that darkened my childhood and adolescence. I hated being born a girl. I hated the changes my body went through during puberty as if they painted a target on me. I still remember cycling one day, feeling carefree, only to hear someone laugh at my developing chest. That moment stays with me—a sharp, stinging reminder of how even innocent joys could be marred by the world's gaze.
I know this isn’t just about me, or just about women. Being touched inappropriately or violated isn’t restricted to gender. It’s a truth that was heartbreakingly captured in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a reminder that anyone—regardless of who they are—can carry such wounds. I’ve often hoped that if I ever encountered someone who had experienced this, especially a man, I could make him feel safe in my company. Because I know exactly what it feels like to be stripped of that sense of safety.
But what people often forget is that I’m not an endless pool of motherly love and nurturing. I can’t keep giving and giving, offering love and emotional support endlessly. I’m not infinite. When I needed that care, when I was at my lowest, all I heard was, “But I thought you were always so mature for your age—so strong, level-headed, and calm.” For once, I didn’t want to be any of those things. I just wanted to be a kid. I wanted to feel safe, to be held, to let someone else be strong for me.
This poem comes from that place—a mix of exhaustion and resilience, of reclaiming my own sense of self and worth after years of giving and receiving so little in return. It’s about shedding the weight of the world’s expectations and stepping fully into my own light.
I hid behind the softness, pretending to be meek,
In cute tees and songs, a mask I’d seek.
For fear that my body, my essence, my soul,
Would be seen as meat, something to control.
I faded into silence, my words left unsaid,
Afraid to be seen, to be judged, to be led.
But I’ve grown tired of hiding away,
Of keeping my truth locked, day after day.
You thought your touch could break me apart,
That I’d lose my voice, that I’d lose my heart.
But now I’m shedding those layers of pain,
Rising above, not bound by your chain.
You called me a fool, too shy, too sweet,
But there’s more to my soul than what you’d complete.
I’m learning to roar, to rise, to fight,
To stand tall and proud in my own light.
No longer will I hide from your prying gaze,
I stand now with pride in all my days.
My voice is my own, my name is my claim,
Not here for your comfort, your game.
You forgot me when it mattered the most,
But now I see the strength I’ve been holding close.
You see me as cute, as fragile, as small,
But I am more, and I will not fall.
I am learning my worth, my wit, my grace,
No longer afraid to take my place.
You thought you could shape me, mould me, control—
But I’ve found the power deep in my soul.
P.S.
I’m not writing this to gain sympathy or pity, nor to put a veil over any perceived failures or shortcomings, especially in terms of where I should have been versus where others are now. When I started this blog, it was anonymous, and my intention was to share my words without the distraction of identity, letting them stand alone.
Over time, as my identity became tied to this space, I realized that the power of sharing doesn’t come from anonymity or even from being extraordinary—it comes from honesty and connection. I’ve always wanted to be in a position where I could use my words to help people in need, but I believed I had to achieve something grand or become someone noteworthy first.
While I haven’t done anything remotely grand in that sense, I still hope these poems inspire and motivate anyone who comes across them. That has always been the heart of why I write here: to offer comfort, encouragement, or a spark for someone else’s journey.
(As a side note, the idea of how trauma and healing are intertwined in the human experience was beautifully captured in the book and movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower—a work I highly recommend if you’re interested in exploring this theme further.)
[Link to The Perks of Being a Wallflower]
~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse
Comments
Post a Comment