The below poem was part of the Voice Poetry Project Midterm assignment and was written from the persona of River James (R.J.) Patterson.

Not the First Time

“Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale,”

I kept reminding myself to breathe

As I walked into the coach’s office.

The coach rode me hard during practice,

But it was a ruse for getting me alone.

The room was empty when I entered, but that wasn’t a relief.

I sat on the old brown couch that smelled like sweat

And stared at the fluorescent light bulb.

I needed to find my numbing place,

A place I created when I was seven

When a teacher would see me alone during recess.

Back then, I’d been an imaginative boy,

Believing in magic and full of wonder,

So nobody believed me. No one had listened.

Now, I am too serious at fifteen, keeping all these secrets.

“What about me makes this keep happening?”

I questioned and questioned myself,

But my mind never came up with an answer.

I heard the coach dismissing his assistant,

Heard the thud, thud, thud of footsteps,

The whoosh of the shutting door, and the click of a lock.

That’s when I stopped listening,

Stopped being in the moment

And rushed to the numbing place.

My family sat around the rectangular table, all of us at our places.

The smell of Mom’s meatloaf, usually made me hungry,

But, tonight, the beef and tomato scent just made me feel sick.

My half-sister Tamara sat to my left telling stories important to a twelve-year-old,

And my mom sat to my right attentively listening to her words,

A twinge of jealousy shot through me seeing her smiling and nodding.

“What did Coach want?” my stepbrother John interrupted.

The room began spinning, so I gripped the table to gain my bearings.

“I guess I was tackling too weak,” I answered quietly.

John huffed, “No, you weren’t!” as their eyes shifted to me.

All their eyes staring right at me. I shook my head

And shrugged my shoulders. Let that be enough,

Let some thing I did today be enough.

Mom took my hand, and I fought the urge to flinch.

She looked me in my eyes, and asked,

“Are you feeling well?”

“No, Mom.” It was the truth, but I played into it

And she excused me from the table.

Tamara stood with me and gave me a hug,

“Did that help make you feel better?”

I gave her a smile and a nod. It didn’t, but she tried.

If anyone ever touched her the way they touched me

Or if they hurt her the way they hurt me…

Well, it wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let that happen.

My skin felt sensitive from the scalding shower

As I finally had a moment alone in my bedroom.

I laid in my bed feeling safe behind my locked door.

I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer,

My fear and my pain overwhelmed me,

But letting it out didn’t make me feel any better.

Crying into a pillow made me feel weak and strange.

So, my mind questioned again, “Why me?”

Maybe I deserved it for being born a product of lust

From a no names exchanged one-night stand.

Maybe lust was all I would receive; all I could inspire.

That’s when the thought hit me, a way to cope.

I didn’t need emotions, this fear or this pain.

What had they done for me anyway?

I could push them away, hold them at bay.

My tears stopped as I forced myself to shut them off.

I could love my sister. I could love my family,

Even if they chose not to listen to me.

I didn’t need to feel anything else,

Be of my body or away from it, it didn’t matter.

I could hold everything away, no emotions necessary.

I would just live in the numbing place.

Was it a way to live? Probably not,

But it offered me a way to survive.