Looking for That Spark

By Anjali

I was sitting in the dark,
Just looking for that spark.

I saw a demon in that darkness,
I got scared—terrified by his harshness.

He held me tight,
Made me sit on his lap.
I tried to move,
But he shut me up with a slap.

I wanted to cry, to scream—
But he called me a fool,
Said I was “retarded.”
His words tore at my self-esteem.

The pain rained down on me,
From head to toe.
He warned me strictly:
"Whatever happened,
You must never let it show."

I was just five—
When he said,
“You’ve got juicy lips.
Kiss me hard,
And I’ll tell you about your hips.”

Mommy said,
“He’s a good man, a family friend.
Talk to him—
Don’t be shy.”

Some nights, I sleep
With that pain buried inside.
I sit in the dark,
Feeling insane.

One night, I cried in my sleep
And told her the truth—
Told her who the demon was.

She cried...
And then cursed me.
She told me,
“Be quiet. Whatever happened, let it be.”

My soul—
Torn apart.
I don’t know where to start.

Now I’m in my twenties,
And he still comes to our home.
I know the storm inside me,
And how I force it to be calm.

I wish my mom didn’t “shhh” me that time.
I wish she stood strong,
And fought that dirty crime.

And here I am—
Still sitting in the dark,
Just looking
For that spark.

This poem is for every survivor silenced by shame, disbelief, or fear.
You are not alone. You are not to blame.

If this touched you, leave a comment or share your story.
Let’s break the silence. Together.

The Pulse