The sound of your voice
Makes my ears ring
The touch of your skin
Makes my body tingle
The way your eyes
Introduce mine
Sends me on a trance
That's unexplainable
The way you ask to
Hit my cigarette
even though you hate the taste
Leaves my head questioning
Why I like the taste
I crave you
I hate **you

"She should have known better."
"She had it coming for her."
"It's just a joke."
"And you're just sensitive."

You're ignorance glazes over your words
Like paint.
Thick, glossy, and shiny
Words covered with a gentle haze
Of misunderstanding.

Hearing those words
Of un-acknowledged shaming
And saddening victim blaming
Stabs straight through my numbed Soul.

But you know what?
I'm glad you are blinded by your
Ignorance ever so blissful.
I am glad you cannot see
How misguided your word can be.
Because that means
That you have not experienced
The Horror
Of being sexually harassed.

Because if you had the opportunity
To feel that kind of
Helplessness.
Terror.
Agony.
Violation.
Degration.

Then you would have never said
She could have prevented it.

And I thank God up in Heaven
That you have never experienced
That kind of pain.

Golden horn player,
    blow.
Tune out the world with your sound.
Tune out the sins, the needs and wants,
Tune out the cries for help in the dark,
    The compliments and appraisals.
Tune out the world which beats you down then apologizes.
Tune out the ‘Yes No’s. The ‘Maybe So’s. The ‘Not Right Now’s.
Tune out every kiss, every touch.
Tune out every heartbreak and every scream. Every time you bled and cried.
Tune it all out.


Golden horn player,
    *Blow.