A Not-So-Spoken Word Poem
I’m done with your
Your everything is fine as far as I can see.
Your attempts to reconcile are a fallacy.
A regular Greek tragedy.
A chorus gathers in the streets
Marching, singing, waving sheets
of paper, cardboard, tattooed sleeves
screaming at you to listen please.
They’re our bodies and our choices.
We’re not afraid to use our voices
To let you know
My life is the only life I’m pro
Choice – for
So shut your face
My body is my sacred place so
Let me choose, let me partake
In correcting any of my mistakes.
Let me decide who and what I make
And if I’d like the egg to take.
My body is NOT yours to define
So get it in your tiny mind
That it’s my choice of who and what I do
If I take Plan B or go Clearblue.
What I decide should not matter,
But let’s just say I choose the latter.
The test is taken, the lines are clear
I’m positive as it appears.
My miracle, my fucking blessing
The product of last nights undressing
And forced kisses and big strong hands
Restraining me from keeping up my pants.
I’m screaming, crying, saying no
But all he hears is go, go, go.
It’s making me unstable
I physically can’t comprehend why now I should be grateful
For this miracle, this fucking blessing
The product of last nights undressing.
Now that you’ve heard the latter
It sounds like I’m just quite the hatter
But I’m not mad, I’m just battered
From listening to the surrounding chatter
What was I wearing?
Did it look daring?
Low cut tops and bottoms worth tearing
Off my body in a drunken pairing
Now, let me give it to you straight
It was two old friends just hanging out late
Going for a walk on a summer night
Talking ‘bout life and all it’s plights
No alcohol, not a random stranger
Just a friend who was doing me a favour
Listening to me in a moment of weakness
Then showing me the true meaning of bleakness.
A lingering hug and he makes his move
Trying something I did not approve.
Stop this now, I’m not that girl
And yet this is how it all unfurls.
The saddest part about this story
Is that attackers get all the glory
You’ll hear his name over a family dinner
The poor little rapist who could have been swimmer.
He’s one in a million who commit a sex crime
But when you’ve got money, you don’t have to do time.
It’s the victims, survivors, and those still undefined
Who have to seek out help to leave this all behind –
Them, their lives forever changed
They’re plagued with trauma
The guilt and the shame.
But this is how the story goes every single day, as a victim and survivor, all rolled into one, I’d just like to say – I’m done.
This was a spoken word poem I wrote and performed for a class. Not quite my usual style of post but hey ho, life is full of horrible things that happen.
Until next time friends (and stay safe out there),