What is rape?
To me?
You never even asked this.
A simple creature, undisturbed by
The horrors that did not apply
To your own life.
What is it to me?
Rape is when my love held me down
Whispering words meant to trick me;
Blind me.
Drunk, blessed drunk,
When he took me for the first time.
Rape is when the fear came,
Long before the pain.
Rape is how I felt
In the moments that were
Precursor to my shame.
Rape is what I felt,
When he turned me over, roughly,
And took his liberties with my body,
Tearing my flesh and splashing my blood
Across my own sheets.
Rape is what I felt
When he hit me;
Saw my tears and struck me hard enough
to make my ears ring.
Rape is what I felt
When the man I trusted more than myself
Beat me bloody in my own bed
And told me I was
NOTHING
and no one cared.
Rape is what I felt
When my friends and family ignored
My screams for help.
Rape is what I felt.
And now,
Years later,
I still feel that pain.
Your jokes don't help,
They desensitize and hurt;
They cause me anguish
While you're sitting in your room laughing
at some shallow joke,
I'm here wishing you had a fucking heart
and could, for a moment,
Put yourself in my place
And ask
"Is it funny"?
