TW: r#pe culture

anxiety-riddled,
my head is a constant battle of sounds
and feelings crashing
like waves into each other;
interference scares me.
as does being out of rhythm,
missing too many beats — i am
conflict-averse but i am also
realistic:

i know that
sound travels faster
through solids and liquids
than through the air,
can be distorted
and interfered
into oblivion—
that when
push comes to shove,
whisper networks
can only reach so far.

scores of screaming matches
between metoo advocates and r#pist apologists
crescendos of nails
scraped across a board
feel a bit too familiar
like listening to white noise and broken records on repeat
while scrolling through toiletpaperworthy nonapologies
witnessing victims collectively crying in an orchestra of agony
and then be blamed for attention-seeking at best,
of causing their own suffering at worst.

although it pains me to listen to these tragic tunes,
it is amusing how so many mishear this collective choir as
survivors celebrating with silly receipts in cancel parties
serving blistering hot tea sweetened by revenge - no

all this is anything but
cathartic.

it’s to make people aware
that the same melodies are sung or screamed
  by those who suffered similar pains
and so that those of a similar frequency know
there are those who listen
that their voice matters
and we are not alone.

- 20210315

i’m not yours.
i never have been
and for the life of me
i can’t figure out why you thought i was.

was it the way i dressed,
the way i acted,
or simply the look in my eyes?

or was it the things I can’t control,
the curves i grew and
the ******* i had no choice but
to have?

i never wanted this.
i never asked for this.
i don’t want your attention
or your wandering hands.

i want to be free to do what i’d like
just to be,
to just
let myself go.

but i can’t.
all because of a stupid little thing
that should be little
but is seen as big

why did i have to be a woman?

instead of living carefree
i have to be careful.

keep the legs always crossed
wear shirts up to your neck
be respectful
(but not too respectful,
lest they believe
you’re asking them for
something)

but even if
you follow all the rules
they don’t care.

your very body is an invitation.

because what is ****** autonomy
in a male dominated world?

spoiler alert: there isn’t any.

orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves
it fits you perfectly. it looks like it was taylored to your measurements perfectly
i bought it about a year ago
let you wear a part of me i felt safe in
worn proudly you are the boy that i thought would never
i painted a picture of you in my head in which you were perfect
i had sculpted each pore perfectly
placed each thread of your hair on your head but
i guess i must have done something to mess up because the perfect picture i painted
dripped with wet unset paint
on top of me suffocating, i couldn’t move
i could only see your chest covered in the stupid orange sweater
tongue deep down my throat with your hand on my neck
your face is dripping on mine this wasn’t who you were supposed to be
it hasn’t been longer than a week but the days drag on years and pull on gods ears and beg for more time to pass but less and less goes by
never ending i feel like i’m stuck
im in an artblock
your face is gone but it was just there i must have misplaced the brush that i drew your short eyelashes with
whimpering you are but why, was it something i did?
my paint brushes are all intact and my workspace is clean
how could i have messed up
the painting with the orange sweater delicate brown eyes and thick bleach hair is dripping
off the canvas
i haven’t done much other than wait for you to dry our before i can add more on to you
but you won’t dry and you’re on top of me
my neck is wet with the saliva you won’t stop touching me
no i said i would take a break from this canvas but it’s encasing me i cannot leave
i messed up havent i
wonder why i did to deserve this
im using my fingers to put your streaky smile back in place don’t look at me like that please
i have to ask for you to leave i cannot stand the shade of orange you’re wearing being on top of me
please leave
im letting you out to dry

in the same position i can’t move
my neck is casted by guilt i must have done something wrong
looking back that couldn’t have been you
it must have been the wrong medium
your acrylic is dry and patched you couldn’t have torn me down like the thin canvas dripping with trauma filled sweat
no because you would never let yourself wear something mine while you took myself from my own body
right?
youre the boy i painted over and over in my head just to get you right
hold my hand let’s go for a walk hold me tight because the wind against my cheek causes a shiver down my spin
lift my head up to glance at the intentional light because you know i’m scared of looking down at the petrifying dark
but you burned my eyes and i am no longer mine the painting is ruined and i can’t fix it
but that’s not who i planned for you to be you would never do that because i don’t mess up the watercolor goes on thick paper while you go on premeditated canvas
was it me?
have i misread but i do not misread i am not an idiot it’s not my fault you chose to do this yet i cant not feel this in my chest
im a failed artist with a body stolen in disgust
i want my orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves back

I want you to hold me tight and feel my muscles tense up
I want you to caress my face and watch as I force myself to stay
I want you to touch me until I start to shake
I want you to feel my body shutter beneath your hand
I want you to know how much I crave you and how sick it makes me feel

i wish i had said no to you
i think about it all the time

i can’t let [ it ] go
i wish i could forget
( if i don’t think about it, it won’t hurt.. right? )

i swear i had said no to you
maybe you just didn’t wanna hear it

i can still feel your hands on me
i wish i had made you listen
( pretending something didn’t happen doesn’t make it so )

i took pills instead of chances
i thought i was healed
but this is only the beginning

there’s no failing
it’s a process
slow progress is still progress

forgive yourself
keep going
keep g r o w i n g

hurt as long as you need to
hurt as LOUD as you need to

miles away
i’m feeling F a r  A w a y…
i see myself and i just float (t)here
waiting to wake up from this fog

things are hazy
curse that **** juice
what happened exactly?
the words are heavy on my tongue…

can’t get myself to spit them out
can’t get myself to speak the truth
can’t get myself to admit what you did to me

out of character behavior
out of body experience

oh
you don’t remember
oh
i’m sorry i’m holding onto things you forgot all about

i tried to use you as an antidepressant
you just used me
i should have left my feelings for you at the door

i wish i had said no to you
i wish i had been given the choice

i’ve got to let it go (but when? and how?)
if i don’t think about it, it won’t hurt.. right?
gotta focus on someday cuz today hurts a little too much

i wish i could stop thinking about this
i wish i could forget you
i wish you could understand that i don’t hate you
i just wish i’d never met you

You tried to touch me,
and I said no.
You still tried and I pushed you away
asking…. no, telling you to leave me alone.
But still, you grabbed me,
like an object that belonged to you.
And when I still said no,
you acted like that was your cue
to grab me again
and do what you do.
You were my best friend
and now I ******* hate you!
I still blame myself for what you did to me.
How is that fair?
It’s been 4 years and I think about it daily.
While you don’t even care.
You ruined high school for me.
I had to see you every day in band.
But I still blame myself,
for not putting you on the stand.

Roses are red, violets are blue
A dinner you promised, just me and you.
Reproving winds lectured me in bites
For my barely-there skirt, and lustful eyes.

Sour cream lathered that oily exterior.
The aftertaste lingered, creating a barrier
Of which soft lips could not break through
Nor embellished flowers or chocolate fondue.

With our stomachs full, with more than just food
You brought me back home with beer-stained shoes.
My mind a fog. The Lamb now waits to be skinned
For the Wolf that set the ****** trap to finally begin.

Virginal blush, tinged with her bruises all blue
A dinner you had promised, just me and you.