like I was there in your bed
I had agreed to be there
you asked if you could do one thing
I said yes
you did, and then started on another
you didn't ask
I didn't say no
It wasn't far from what I had initially agreed upon
but you didn't ask
I didn't feel like I could say no

it's been years now
but it's because of you
that i don't think i'll ever
look at potential partners
the same way
again

i remember
the breeze on my skin
and the texture of the blanket
i remember
letting you in
because i couldn’t say no
i remember
feeling disgusted
and asking myself what i was thinking
i remember
finding out the word for it
a word i had already known
a word i didn’t know i could apply to this
i remember
writing my first words about this
scared to share my pain
i remember
the first time i lifted my head
and said “me too”
i remember
the first time i told someone
scared that they’d think less of me
and now
i am beginning to come to terms
with what happened to me
and soon
i will remember
all of this
and i won’t panic or shut down

i can't
i won't
answer
this time

                    i clasp
                    my legs,
                    holdfast
                    the line

maybe
You
will just
disappear

                    as i
                    cocoon
                    and writhe
                    in fear

--
c

The only other girl at the party
is ranting about feminism.
The audience: a sea of **** jokes and snapbacks
and styrofoam cups and me.
They gawk at her mouth like it is a drain
clogged with too many opinions.
I shoot her an empathetic glance
and say nothing. This house is for
wallpaper women. What good
is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?

These boys…
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices I’ve been
sitting this whole time? I am ashamed
of keeping my feminism in my pocket
until it is convenient not to, like at poetry
slams or woman studies classes.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
Once I forgave a predator because
I was afraid to start drama in our friend group
two weeks later he assaulted someone else.
I’m still carrying the guilt in my purse.

There are days I forget we had to invent
nail polish to change color in drugged
drinks and apps to virtually walk us home
and lipstick shaped mace and underwear designed to prevent ****.

Once a man behind me at an escalator
shoved his hand up my skirt
from behind and no one around me
said anything,
so I didn’t say anything.
Because I didn’t wanna make a scene.

Once an adult man made a necklace
out of his hands for me and
I still wake up in hot sweats
haunted with images of the hurt
of girls he assaulted after I didn’t report,
all younger than me.

How am I to forgive myself for doing
nothing in the mouth of trauma?
Is silence not an active violence too?

Once, I told a boy I was powerful
and he told me to mind my own business.

Once, a boy accused me of practicing
misandry. “You think you can take
over the world?” And I said “No,
I just want to see it. I just need
to know it is there for someone.”

Once, my dad informed me sexism
is dead and reminded me to always
carry pepper spray in the same breath.
We accept this state of constant fear
as just another component of being a girl.
We text each other when we get home
safe and it does not occur to us that
not all of our guy friends have to do the same.
You could literally saw a woman in half
and it would still be called a magic trick.
Wouldn’t it?
That’s why you invited us here,
isn’t it? Because there is no show
without a beautiful assistant?
We are surrounded by boys who hang up
our naked posters and fantasize
about choking us and watch movies that
we get murdered in. We are the daughters
of men who warned us about the news
and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful. To be safe.
Then told our brothers to go out and play.

it's sick, it's ******* sick as ******* plague to wish someone succeeded at suicide but if that's how i'm feeling i can't control it you ******* made me this way
you
i hate you
"you don't know how happy it's made me that we're friends again."
we aren't
we aren't
we aren't friends
you think i want to be friend with you
because i'm nice and if i didn't say yes you would probably threaten to **** yourself or some **** and say what you always say.
"but you've been my reason for living."
just like when i didn't say yes you stuck your fingers into me and breathed heavily and i sat there frozen and with no emotion but i wanted to yell for help.
you ruined my recovery and continue to.
people ask why don't i tell you to go away.
i try but you keep coming back.
like the devil.
do you hear the things you say?
"i tried to **** myself."
"i tried to **** myself and I just wanted someone to talk to."
i said I'm not in the place to hear that right now.
"******* Belle, all you ever do is rub it in my face."
You'll do it again.
i'm always the perpetrator.
i don't want to be friends.
stop talking to me.
i have nightmares of you strangling me and forcing me to do things with you, because this is what you once did.
asking someone to go away is never so simple when they're so obsessive.
i have had a ball and chain around both ankles for so long.

;fear

We felt it, with our hands pressed tightly against our child-chests.
Boom
Boom
Boom.

It sounded nothing like a heartbeat,
But explosions being let off in the distance.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt like sweat and dried ***** caked onto torn pajama pants.

We grew to know the insides of our mouths,
with our soft gums clutched between our teeth -
We learned that our voices were safer kept stowed away there.

We picked at their hands like we picked at our scabs,
Because pulling off healing skin,
felt like pulling off a rooted burn,
And prying off desperate fingers from off our bones,
Meant prying off something that terrified us.

This was our strength;
This was our paralysis.

We felt it, with our ears pushed against the door,
Please
Please
Please

It sounded nothing like a pleading mother
But warm air, creeping through vents with a sudden force.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt of fresh blood, kissing the lips of a weeping woman.

We worshipped knives like they worshiped our baby-soft skin,
Because cutting open ourselves meant cutting out what they left inside,
And watching the filth flee
down our wrists, down our knees,
Felt like draining water
Out of a clogged tub.


It felt nothing life fear
It smelt nothing like decay
It was a continual clutch of the knife against their throats

This one's for you, daddy