WARNING to my queens… these are not easy to read and will trigger reactions. These were written for the purpose of voicing rape without shaming anyone. These are not meant to be offensive to any survivor but meant to bring attention to the outside observers who just do not understand what rape is or what it can do to a person’s mental and physical health. I broke it into stages, not assuming that it is this easy to “overcome” rape in lack of terms, but wanted to create a brief insight into the mental and physical challenges faced, the same format as the stages of grief described in physiology classes. This also does not assume that rape only happens to women. Please use this as a learning experience and a respectful protest against rape. Thank you Queens.
Terror
A glass filled to the rim with my blood,
It looks as if it is just the red wine you brought.
My spine molded
Into the wall with a thud.
Clothes became soggy paper mache.
My own skin melts off these broken bones.
You tighten your grip when the cracks echo.
Shards stick out of my thighs
That you have ripped open.
Every thrust…I swallow my own teeth.
Your sweat drips to the rhythm of my tears.
Minute after minute my organs are pulp.
I shut my eyes knowing,
I cannot do much more.
Please…please…please…stop.
Your semen is my poison.
Disintegrating the walls within me.
I gasp for air…
But choke on your skin cells.
Clenching my jaw
As veins pop through my neck
Turning blue and pulsing.
Streams roll down to my calves.
In wounded cold cuts
In a bed I used to dream in.
Now…
It’s my own crime scene.
(Pause)
Wounded
Do I dare even look in the mirror.
Is it still me?
Terrified to say my own name out loud.
Through these lips…these lips.
I cannot touch this hair that’s been pulled.
These arms with bruises.
My thighs the shade of auburn.
I scream towards the flashbacks.
The detailed pictures of his face.
The noises of our skin rubbing against each other.
I want to bleach every part he touched.
To bathe myself in fire.
Am I still a woman? Or a victim?
A little hug gives me ptsd.
Cracking a smile makes me nauseous.
My clothes feel like thorns and needles.
I haven’t slept in my own bed for weeks.
Who can I turn to?
Who will listen…or believe?
What happened…?
I fall to the floor
With a knife in my hand.
“Forgive me.”
(Pause)
Grief
I mourn this women.
A women or spirit, laughter, pride.
Someone I once knew.
Once was in love with.
Confidently adored.
I cry for her every day.
But my tears are cold.
No salt to taste.
Lips pale and cheeks sunk in.
I drown in poison.
As the woman stares down at me.
I reach for her hand.
But our fingers can never lock.
She cries for me
And turns her back
Walking into the darkness.
It’s all black now.
Emptiness.
I hunt everyday
For the women I was.
She’s no longer a reflection.
“I’m sorry.”
(Pause)
Rage
I want you
To look me in the eyes.
Stare into the court room.
As I use the same strength,
You used to thrust in me.
I’ll squeeze your neck
Until the blood vessels
In your eyes break and bleed.
I want you to suffer…
To foam from your mouth
As I rip out every tooth.
I laugh as you choke.
To cut off your pride
And have your thighs
Auburn like you left mine.
I want your face
Shown to everyone
With labels of your shame.
You’re weak.
You had no RIGHT!
You’re not a human.
And I will show you my revenge.
(Pause)
Relief
I speak of you.
With no vain to your name.
As a lesson
Of how strong I can be.
I cry with tears of comfort,
For the ones
Who fall in my arms for help.
I listen to the same stories
With an empathetic heart.
I grab hold
Of these hands.
Who are just like me.
I am their comforting blanket.
I am the strong voice
To push them through the poison.
The one to release them
From the fear that’s deadly.
I am here for all.
As not a victim.
But a warrior.
A voice of a survivor.
Protesting to defend all
Who are like me.
I’ll be there.
Through every stage.
I’ll hold you
The way you pulled me out.
(Pause)
My Queens, sharing these poems as stages for a survivor brings forth rape culture. A voice into the mind of what can happen during and after a rape. I am in no right to say that these are true but through research of personal stories told to me I have put together scenarios to give an insight or an example of what can happen mentally and physically to a survivor. Also describing the words that some cannot speak. And that is okay. I wrote these to just spark a reaction, to have your heart race pause and to think about how these make you feel. Do they speak to you? Read through the stages. These are my words. I can sit here and lecture you all about rape like the pathetic scripted videos shown to us through schools but I’d rather you all read a brief, unedited, un-silenced, grim, and hopeful version of a survivors journal. These are NOT true stories but are truthful events if that makes sense. Please respect views on this topic as it is sensitive to many and I very much understand that. These poems were written for a beneficial purpose the same as the “T-Shirt Project.” Just like that organization the goal is to expose people towrope culture. I wish for this to not offend or hurt anyone but to spark thoughts.
I care for ALL and as always Stay Royal My Queens.