I have had many conversations with guys in the last few week that have blown me away. I wrote this poem a few months ago called “Broken Boy”. It will be in my book “Wounded Healer, Memoirs and Poems of a Broken Boy” which will be released later this year. In the Poem it talks about the abuse of young men. As most know most of my poetry is about me. This poem is pretty raw and revealing.
I have shared the idea of the poem and book with many around me. When I share it with guy who may have a similar background or can identify I am greeted with an overwhelming…yes. A yes that speaks far more than its good stuff, I think it a yes, that yearns for their stories to be told. Maya Angelou was quoted as saying, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”
I think this agony is carried by so many in our society. We hear so often of girls being molested and the effect that it has on them and we are extremely sympathetic, rightfully so, but when it happens to boys silence. Our news is bombarded with boys having sex with teachers and its never worded molested or taken advantaged of. We in the church are faced with our boys taken advantaged of right in the flock. It makes me ask this question, are they not your sons?
I think our perception of it is even different. In some cases we assume because he was a man he wanted it. This fear causes so many young men to stay silent. Afraid they will be deemed gay or a liar. Why is it in our society that we have forced our boys to be men before their time. Is it not a tragedy that they are carrying such a heavy load silently. Have we considered them not worthy of the protection we give to our daughters.
I was taken advantage of for the first time when after my mother died. He was an older man in his late twenties or early 30s. I was no more than 13 or 14. Memories I recall like an old film strip but wounds that I still bare as a man. At first you blame yourself, then you hate yourself and hate him. You carry a pain in you that you dare not speak openly. And what I did not share ate at me. It spilled over into hate for myself and in how I relate in relationships. I am well along in being healed now but for years this untold story kept me captive. I now use my poetry to tell my story and aide in my healing.
I think the breaking of our young men is a wounding that screams throughout society. I have shared in countless places here in America and overseas and I am always met with this reality. In notes and emails, whispers and tears…they say, That is my story. Never able to share, not strong enough to speak it. Gripped by fear, captive by judgment. And so these untold stories eat at them. And so now our boys become wounded men who hate themselves and act out, who even fear love. I think we need to create the space for healing.
We need to create a place where the conversations can be had that lead to growth and security. What that looks like is probably pretty messy. Like men in church not pretending like they have it all together but are broken. Like our husbands breaking down the walls they have built up and sharing the agony in why he is so guarded with his wife. I have heaps of thoughts on this subject. What do you think? … i will share a bit of the poem with you below…
Cry for us…scream..
We Broken boys molested by those who should have protected
By priest and preachers. neighbors and teachers
Stealing from us every ounce of innocence and no one speaks our silence
Cause we don’t have wombs we carry no emotion, were we not your children
And with every touch they leave us…Broken. Confused. Longing to be touched.
Thinking this just maybe love.
Made to touch places only your wife should
You touching me whispers, don’t that feel good. You are breaking me
You sucking. Me silent. Stunned. Unable to move.
You play with my ass. You just going to stick the head in.
You are breaking me, this hurts me…
And I like shattered glass, window broken
No protection, entry. Like rain, floods me.
Dark Pain lonely making me despise all that I am..
Write my friend, speak for us..
Did I deserve this…how did I cause it..
Dirt on me I cant wash away, get it off me…
Am I nasty, unwanted…do you see it on me.
Can you tell…Do you know what he did…
Can you see…we Broken Boys have become Wounded men
Who hate ourselves, cause we hide scars silence won’t let heal…