I cannot breathe. Try to inhale–
breath doesn’t come. My chest won’t rise.
My throat is tight. Swollen. Shut.
Although I try, I just can’t breathe.
I cannot breathe. He’s standing there.
Standing, staring. What will he do?
I hold my breath. The fear is real.
He’s standing there. I dare not breathe.
I cannot breathe. I hold my breath.
He’s coming now. What will he steal?
Can’t form a thought. Can’t form a cry.
Can’t take a breath. I dare not breathe.
I cannot breathe. He’s here. But why?
He steals the breath that is not his.
He does not care. My words, unheard.
My sad heart breaks, and I can’t breathe.
I cannot breathe. My fear is real.
Although I beg, he doesn’t hear.
My words to use are ripped away.
And he makes sure I cannot breathe.
I cannot breathe. The sheet, pulled taut
across my chest, it holds my breath.
The air can’t come, the air can’t leave.
I hold on tight, but I can’t breathe.
I cannot speak. I want to say,
Just go away and leave me here!
He silences, and holds me down.
I cannot speak when I can’t breathe.
I cannot breathe. I want to run.
But where to go? He’d follow-chase.
I wouldn’t win. No air is there
to give me life so I can run.
Can’t get away. I do not try.
And if I did, the door has locks.
The key is gone. Escape? No hope.
So, here I stay and do not breathe.
I cannot breathe. I want to scream.
But who would hear me? No one there
to come and help. My scream, no sound.
My voice is gone, for I can’t breathe.
I cannot breathe. My fear is real.
I’m trapped. Can’t move. Afraid to try.
My chest won’t rise. I cannot run.
I cannot hide, and I can’t breathe.
I cannot breathe. I fear more harm,
and so I freeze. I need no air
to stay alive. My frozen heart.
I must not move. I must not breathe.
He walks away and leaves me here.
What should I do? Still, fear is real.
And should I move and make a sound
he will come back, so do not breathe.
Hours pass without a breath.
I wait for time to soothe my fear,
to bring my need for safety close.
I wait. I wait, and do not breathe.
I do not breathe. Others come
and fill the space he held with me.
I’m not alone, but am I safe?
Although I can, I do not breathe.
I hold my breath to keep it in.
I hold my secret to myself.
I dare not share for fear of blame.
My heart is heavy. I don’t breathe.
I do not breathe. I cannot speak.
I have to bear the weight of harm.
The price of hurt, betrayal real.
My voice long gone,
but I must breathe.
In safety, women hold me close.
As I inhale, I feel their eyes.
They see my hurt and sit with me.
I take a breath and tell my tale.
I take a breath and try to find
that girl whose voice and trust are gone.
My chest now rises, feels, and fills
the breath of life. I take it in.
I take a breath and trust again.
And then I don’t, and then I do.
I’m learning how–that I am safe.
That others see, so I can breathe.
I try the air. Comfort near.
Recall the fear I felt that day.
I look for Jesus. Filtered light.
I feel Him near and hear His breath.
To breathe again, I find the hope
my Savior brings. He sits with me
to stroke my hair, and sigh my name,
to meet my eyes so I can breathe.
Take a breath, He says to me.
I was there. You weren’t alone.
I’ve waited here ’til you could see,
and breathe with breath I bring to you.
Take a breath, sweet child, He says.
I have you now. Just breathe with me.
I take a breath, and breathe Him in.
Hope fills my chest. Again, I breathe.
What sweet embrace. He’s here with me!
I rest my head. He holds my face
and speaks my name. You’re safe, He says.
And I believe.
Now, I can breathe.
