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My Name is Michelle Eppel and I Am 49 Years of Age

My Name is Michelle Eppel and I Am 49 Years of Age

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Published by: Michelle on Feb 01, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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09/29/2012

 
My name is Michelle Eppel and I am 49 years of age. This book is dedicated to Steven Mattingly whomade this possible. Also dedicated to family and supportive friends.I am a twenty five year old survivor of rape and in the year of 2006 I fought for a new law as a voicfor victims. I was allowed to testify and a new law was passed for the State of Ilinois house bill 701 whperpatrators of rape pay automatic restitution to the victim for life. I am continuing my fight nationwide.hope you enjoy and find some comfort in my short stories and poems. Thank you Michelle Eppel.The Cape ( Dedicatedto all victims of sexual assault and domestic battery)If you need help or someone to talk to please call National sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656 HOPE.Upon my face there is no traceI wear what no man can seeAn invisible cape that never sets me free.I received it from a manOn a cold, dark, damp, November nightThe hour: Shortly after midnight.This man hunted me down as his preyHis hair was dark with streaks of grayHis horrid face forever I fear His breathe reeked of beer His evil eyes burned like fire from HellDeath was his dreadful smell.His cruel voice ordered me with his commandsHis ragged skin unbearable as were his callous handsHis arms strong as steel embedded me in cementHis infested body invaded mine without my consentHe smothered me with his massive weightMy mind, my body, and my soul instantly filled with hateIn disgrace, I created my own invisible capeTo shield me from his sight, his touch, his smell and his tasteWith all my power I struggled to escapeIn torment and blood I survived an unjust rape.By law the alcoholic man received counselHe recovered: his gift: NO FEEThis vicious man today walks freeCapable of hunting down another preyAs he is released from jailFor me the judical system did failFor me not by law, I received my own thearpyMy gift: MY FEE
 
I, the survivor, want no symapthyI, the victim, seek to replaceWhat that man took from meThe shame he wiped upon my faceI the survivor, I the victimRemain quite frailI bear a cape which I can never unveilUpon my face there is no traceI wear what no man can seeAn invisible cape that never sets me free.Buried In His CasketI have lost my wayMy life has taken a sudden tollMy world is now buriedIn a deep dark holeI am dying of a broken heartI live as a widowI lost my loved one six months agoLoving him is all I knowI sleep aloneI awake aloneI walk aloneEach time I think of himI crumble to tiny shredded pieces of boneHe lives upon my mindA life without him I cannot findWithin I see his faceI feel his touchI hear his voiceI see his footstepsI softly whisper his sweet nameTears begin to fallI know not myself at allI take a walk to where he is buriedThere I spend my dayI tell him all I have to sayI water his flowersI pull the weeds
 
I clean his stoneInside his casketLies my broken heartI once owned.My Passion Is ContentI place my handsUpon your heartIt beats a song for meI hold your handAs we begin to make loveIn the oceans goloden sandI caress your moist lipsAs you softly whisper My name with a gentle kissI stroke my fingers throughYour thick dark hair Your ocean blue eyesGaze into mine with a lusting stareThe ocean wavesFlow upon our feetAs our warm bodiesBegin to meetChills swarm up my fragile thin spineI feel your body begin to sway with mineTogether our sweat begins to pour As we make sweet love . . . we exploreYour voice is like the ocean wavesEchoing in my ear Your heart is ike the seaguls callingThat I overhear My body fills with your scentMy burning passion for you is content.Do I KnowDo I know where I am going?Do I know where I am running?Do I feel our love is through?

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