Dr. John A. King reads an original poem about childhood abuse tied to rainstorms. After fifty years of sleeplessness and dread, he describes waking without fear of rain for the first time, marking a breakthrough in healing from trauma.
I want to read you a piece of poetry from, um, no working title. It's the first piece that I wrote after I recalled what happened to me as a kid. It's called Rain. I was young when it happened, old when he left. He came when it rained. He said, lie still, hold still, I'll do it, don't struggle, no one will know. But they can all tell. They see it. They know I'm defiled, soiled, smeared like excrement. On a sacred altar. He came telling me it would make me a man. He came telling me it wouldn't last long. He came telling me it wouldn't hurt. Then why does it still ache? Why does it never stop? I lay awake pretending to sleep, hating the nights, dreading the dreams. Puddles in the corner of my soul, fearing the rain, longing for sunshine. This morning was the first time in 50 years I've woke not scared of the rain.
