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Illustration by Micah Jessicah Hein
Poetry: Crimes I did not Commit
Two cases (poems) of the same collection that explore the idea of trauma, captivity, and psychological manipulation. The poems explore complex emotions of dependency, fear, and grief.
Sep 29, 2024
Case 1:
I'm a counterfeit
I'm a fraud
I claim to hate the ropes that keep me here
but you untied me long ago.
I think I just like the bitter taste
of knowing that if I stay in your basement long enough
you might just want to keep me,
Because your love is the only kind I know
and the only kind that still gives me butterflies,
even if that means that the burn marks on my wrists are permanent.
But I know you’ll never come back down here
your new victims are younger
and don’t know what you are,
you're halfway up the attic
and I'm still down here
addicted to the butterflies
knowing you'll never come back down,
because your victims are younger
and I'm no 17-year-old girl.
Case 2:
I’ve been bent backwards
Like all your victims
How do you count all the ticks on the wall?
542 days
But I’m still counting small
I don't know why I'm still here
Catching dust like I'm your little souvenir
Leaving isn't an option I’d allow myself
But even then
You keep the doors locked
Not to look at me
Not to stare
Because you just like the power
You have over me
My body isn’t a temple
I've felt God leave
A thousand times over
And yet when you come near me
On a warm day
I still quiver and shake
and tremble and cry
When they found my body
That late day in January
I remember how you looked shocked and disheartened
Like you weren't the one who put me there
Like the skin under my nails
Don't belong to you
A simple ‘Person Doe’
They can’t identify
If only I had the voice
To call you
What you are
But I can only watch you from a distance
Because when it was me
On the other side of that glass
You didn't hesitate to testify
So the best thing I can give you
Is my silence
Because I'd hate to be the witness that puts you away
Even if it's the only way I'll feel safe again
Because you still give me butterflies
Not in a good way
It’s just the only kind
I’ve ever known
And sometimes
When I close my eyes
I picture those ticks on the wall
And I wish you’d find me again
Just like you did
That very first time
When I didn’t have the eyes
To know what you were
But I’m not 17 anymore
And those 542 days
Ended years ago
But still, I feel the weight of your chest
Against my back
And your hand on my thigh
Like that very first time
Micah Hein is a Deputy Features Editor. Email them at feedback@thegazelle.org.
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