The water is cold and touches the parts of me that feel foreign I am still pulling needles out of my hair Bits of broken green and mud spiral into the drain in quick motions The more I scrub at my skin, the harder it becomes to erase the damage I can't remember For a moment I wonder how many inches of water is required to drown When the moment is over I carefully step out of the shower My eyes connect with the nurse, she tells me that I can wear these clothes because mine had to be thrown away Only half an hour ago I reached to pull down my underwear to find nothing I needed to be inspected A black hole with a past I didn't know needed to be examined This felt like the kind of dream where all the images are blurred and control is lost, the character moving forward doesn't resemble the one that fell asleep I nod and begin to dress myself in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants My sister comes to pick me up, she is in tears I try to make a joke To recall the person before She doesn't laugh I am not the same A gravity weighs down the air, like a wolf fetching for the ****; it bites down on the neck of my spirit and draws blood It remains there for months And will come to claim it's full prize in a court room Full of men defending men With reasons that vary depending on the sport, the class, the color, the ***, I was unconscious that night but I am awake to see the picture of you they use in the news You are smiling Eyes wide You are a "good boy", a "future will be destoryed", a "made a mistake" kind of man I am a "binge drinker", an "attention seeker", a "should of known better" kind of girl You feel you have won But I never finished fighting I will declare a war Not for you But for the girl before For the victims whose voice was once unsure I hear you And we will shout together
My take on inside the thoughts of Brock Turner's **** victim (via poetry) based on the letter she wrote to address him in court.