Joel Marshall

Hi, my name is Joel, I'm 29 years old and I live just north of Boston. I've been happily coupled for 10 years and wonderfully married for 2. I was between the ages of 13-19 when most of these poems were written. I am a product of a single family home, yes it was my mother and no my father did not abandon us. He passed away when I was 3 years old. I'm number 4 in a family of 8 - 5 brothers and 2 sisters. I was born in Los Angeles and grew up in San Diego.

I'm also a survivor of child sexual abuse as well as a survivor of depression.


I was in and out of foster homes for a good chunk of my toddler years. My mother was a young woman and was vulnerable to abusive men. Not only did she pay for her relationships, her children did too. I was not very successful with being innocent as I knew things that no child should ever know. We had a family friend who had a liking to me and frequently took advantage of my innocence. It was obvious my kicking and screaming every time we rounded the block that he lived on went without suspicion. Just when he couldn't do anything to make it worse than his need for my mouth on him... I was forced onto a bed with him on top of me. I think I was about 4 or 5 years old.


Unfortunately, foster homes didn't have the safe haven they were supposed to give. What happened to me when I was with my family continued in a few of the homes I stayed. For the most part I stayed to myself. Didn't cause any trouble, didn't ask for a hand - I was a good boy. But for one reason or another, I went from foster home to foster home. One family made me clean their house, trim their bushes, even cook their meals. I was even in charge of bathing their 16 year old son. He too had his way with me. I was 6 years old.


Eventually I got into a real good foster home. The family was great and I learned I had sisters. Soon my mom would finally get custody of all her kids and we were back to being one big family. A very poor one, but a family. At some point I started lying and those lies became my false realities. I was so desperate for attention, I told lies so that people would like me. The places I've been, the things I've done...the people I knew. All lies. Some were so outrageous I'm sure people knew it was a fabrication. Didn't matter, I told it anyway. When I was backed into a wall, I just simply ducked, scurried away and started all over. New place, new school, new friends... same old lies.


The first time I thought there was something wrong with me, I was 16 years old. The crying, the loss of motivation, the desire to disappear forever - �was brutal. It kicked me more than anyone at the time who knew me could imagine. One learns real quick how to fake when others expect nothing but the best from you. Slowly it took over and my grades showed it. I soon dropped out when once again, my lies of safaris, travels with people of status reared its head. Suspicion of homosexuality crept into the minds of those that loved me. I always knew I was, I just didn't want to be all those names that I heard people slander. I laid down with many guys throughout my entire adolescence and young adulthood. I was hoping to fill the void that was there. Nothing worked. I met an older guy that convinced me over the internet that he was the one for me. I found myself on Cape Cod with a newfound hope of starting all over once more.


So I packed my things and left with no word, address or number to be reached by. I wanted to start fresh and having people know where I was, was not going to give me that peace of mind. Right away something wasn't right with this guy. He would fall asleep with a cigarette in his mouth and a drink in his hand. I convinced myself this was the life that I wanted. To be a servant to a nice guy, to cook and clean for him. To have dinner ready when he got home. To be cherished with his approval of my cleanliness. He never wanted for anything from me. I didn't suspect the anger he held in himself until it was too late. Little things normally don't add up until you're hit with the reality. The night he laid his hand on me, was also the night I learned to live as a homeless. I was 17 years old.


Prostitution should never be anyone's last resort. But when one's desperate for shelter, food, funds...you'd do just about anything. I became popular very quick. But I wanted more. I wanted love, I wanted companionship, I wanted to belong. So from John to John, I went in hoping that I would charm him to a point that he would keep me. It never happened. I found a roommate and just like all the others before she turned out to be just as controlling. I was going crazy, I really wanted to give up. But there was something in me that held on. As thin as my string was, it was still firm enough to not give up on me.


Death called me daily and the night begged me to join it. I'd pick up the phone but hang up just as soon as it reached my ear. I wanted to live but I had nothing to live for. All the foster homes that I occupied didn't want me. Those that did, forced themselves on me. The word no did not exist in my vocabulary. I wanted to be a good boy, a child that everyone wanted. The names others called out to those that loved the same, kept me from my truth. I started accepting the fact that I was a loser. A lonely gay American-Mexican kid who couldn't speak a word of Spanish. Whose choices were never voiced or asked. A constant cycle of attracting those that wanted control of me, I can't blame them for that, I allowed it. A run away who didn't want to be found and ultimately forced out of the closet by an abusive partner. So hearing what death had to offer was always tempting.


I learned after I was diagnosed with Major Depression that my biggest fear was the fear of myself. The fear of moving on and letting go. To face those battles that you created within yourself. That time, if given the chance, fixes these things. But time alone can't do it, you need to be willing to stick by it. Be willing to be its friend and most of all, be true to it. Just because life shoves you down, that doesn't mean you crawl away. You stand up and plant your feet firmly to the ground. Muscles will ache and your knees may give but you pick yourself up and you do it again. It will hurt and your bruises will renew but hold steadfast. Each time will be better and soon you will be able to step one foot forward. And that one step will be the greatest achievement that you may ever reach because you fought the burden of your life and won the first battle of the war within yourself. You're not alone in this suffocating world because I too live on this planet with you.


- Joel