Hit the ground running,

Conceal the cuts and bruises,

The blood dripping down on you.

At night, do you still feel his hands on you?

When you look in the mirror do you see a

Body that belongs to you?

Do you feel like peeling off your skin?

To give, what he has already taken, to him.

Let him wear what he was so desperate for, What he was willing to take with blood

Under fingernails

And a background of screams; both

Unheard and deafening. 

Is the brand only skin-deep?

Or has he stolen your flesh and your bones,

Tore your heart from its caged ribs. 

Have they told you to let it go yet?

That forgiveness is peaceful?

What do you know of peaceful?

Show them your blood and your scars. 

You are what they should have prevented, 

Do not let them shy away from their guilt.

No survivor should feel ashamed,

No veteran is made to feel guilty. 

You are a consequence of society, 

A visual of their failure,

Do not let them hide you when the blood

Has stopped dropping but the scars are

Now visible. 

When your voice is found and no longer muffled; become a banshee, do not let

Them forget. 

Deafen them with the screams of your death.