Late Night Thoughts *Trigger Warning*

Seventeen years of abuse. Three and a half years free. There is no justice for me, only a pen and paper. Only my pleas in the darkness of my room, as I try to share my life and story that I no longer feel I own. Only the shame of my past being told. Every disgusting detail, while detectives say it is not enough.

My mind is torn to shreds. My soul longs for my child that I will never see on this earth. My heart begs for my sisters that I can no longer protect. I beg for justice.

I plead with detectives. I beg them to fight for my sisters—still, no justice.

Only a pen and paper, where I write my anger, my shame, my sadness.

Telling my story gives me no joy. I take no pleasure in writing what I have been through.

I write so maybe, one day, someone will notice and save my sisters. I write for them.

I tell the world how I was trafficked, tossed from man to man, for my “father’s” financial gain.

I speak of the loss of my child, who I miscarried, because of the beatings my “father” gave me.

I speak of my abuse from age three, begging God to send someone home while I was hurt.

I tell of the first time I was trafficked, at age ten, in a room in my church.

I tell these things and beg for someone to hear, knowing this is my sisters’ danger.

Yet, there is no justice—only the shame in my story.

Only flashbacks. Only nightmares. Only mental disorders.

I lived through it once physically, but then my brain was injured, and I forgot. I was forced to relive it mentally for three years. Even tonight, I remembered an anniversary. I will probably never remember everything. I am not sure I want to.

This is the shameful, lonely life I live. Full of dark memories, harsh words, no peace. I want to say that there is a happy ending, but I don’t know yet. Perhaps my sisters will be set free. Maybe they will be in my arms once more. Perhaps my abuser will face the punishment he deserves. Perhaps he will always be free. Maybe I will never be heard by detectives. Maybe, this is the lonely life I will always live. I choose to err on the side of hope, although it is difficult some days. One day, hopefully not far away, my story will be heard.