I wonder if you think of me in the night
I know it's a waste of time
Even though I think
I can read your smile
I can't
get over it.
I tell myself
I won't be broken
if you decide
I'm not worth it
or just want to
dip your toes in.
I want to fall forward
go all in.
Be your new best friend.
I want you to hold me.
My eyes roll back
and imagine...ughhh
I'm feeling weak just thinking
about how you'd touch me.
Pardon me if I shake.
I'm just so excited
trying to tell myself it's ok.
It's ok.
It's ok.
It's ok.

I'm just
a bag of skin,
whirling,
in the wind.

I'm plastic
on the beach,
out of place,
and not unique.

I've been stabbed,
and ripped in half,
by some homeless man
picking up trash.

I'm submerged,
underneath,
unwanted things
that rot, that stink.

particles
bend in tune
time tubes.

Bow down.
Look up.
You addict —
consumed by a
human body.
Ideal to you.
Indifferent to me.
So, look at me.
Look at my *******.
Swollen.
Sagging conically.
Look, but don’t touch
Then, sharpen each square inch.
Pause at each nip.
Turn me around.
I make it easy to feast on my anatomy.
Shove your white fists
inside these delicate folds of skin.
Then rip me off my pedestal
and onto your lips,
so you drown ******,
choked by dust.
Your tongue
carving territory
inside a power-hungry *****.
Just another sculptor, shackled to art.
Such cold worship
granite cannot love.

Yes,
this is another poem
about ****.

Sorry,
I know you’re
exhausted from
hearing them.

Sorry,
I know it makes you uncomfortable.

****.
There I
go apologizing again.

Ok. Reframe.
Start over. Own it.

This is a poem
about **** and you better
******* listen.

Ok too harsh,
too harsh.
They’re not gonna listen now.

Again.

Ok, uhh...
personal story.
One time my
best friend and I
were ***** by the same
person.

Ok wait, no...
too personal.
They’ll just pity me,
instead of seeing the
larger issue.

Ok, I think I finally got it.

To give you an idea
of the numbers,
all of my friends and I
have been victims
of  ****** assault.

Great, perfect,
not too personal,
we can talk about it in the abstract
like nothing terrible
happened to me,
specifically.

That’s it. That’s it.
That’s how we can talk about.
Depersonalized,
Submerging our feelings
with facts.
Statistics are our best friend.

So here it goes:
Did you know false reports of ****** assault are
rare, ranging from 2 to 10%
of all reported ****** assaults.
That the percentage
I just quoted was
from a study that
collected data over 10 years
from reports on a college campus,
after determining in a meta-analysis of 20
other studies on false reporting that the
FBI data used was "unreliable."

Conversely, about 63% of
****** assaults go unreported.

Wouldn't it make sense
to air on the side of
believing women
then? As opposed to
casually
insinuating they could
have ulterior motives
reporting ****** assault,
political or otherwise.

That isn't an argument.
That is fear talking.
That is guilt talking.
That isn’t us having a conversation –
that’s just you blabbering illogically,
crippled by the fear you’ll be next.

You are wrong.
You are wrong!
Your arguments are baseless.
You are completely ignoring the facts.
There is no evidence.
You need to stop talking,
and politely listen.
Because you have a lot to learn.
And while we are not obligated,
many of us are willing to teach you:

The only ulterior motive women
have 'outing' people,
for a CRIME
they committed,
the only benefit,
is to make sure the person responsible
doesn't **** someone else.
And you not believing us,
you chastising us,
you rolling your eyes,
you silencing us,
lets that person walk free.