Apr 2017
They won't tell you it hurts,
as his hands snake to your shirt.
They won't tell you it's his fault,
as your wounds are filled with salt.
They won't tell you it's will okay,
as he leads you on by being fake.
You won't know why it happened to you,
there was know way you could have known.
You won't have any help during the long nights,
where you remember the feeling of his bites.
You won't escape the dark,
and will avoid going to the park.
Mother,
she will blame you for wearing those short skirts.
Father,
will be disappointed at you for lying.
Your younger sister,
will come and cuddle with you even though she is too young.
****!
*****!
DUMB BLONDE!
they say i was asking for it...
that i wore the low cut top for attention...
that my skirt was the purpose of all of this...
because i wore makeup at night...
and my perfume was too sweet and lingered...
they tell me that i am lying...
that it didn't happen like that...
that i wanted it...
they tell me how i felt during it all...
what they don't know:
it was 1:43am when i last checked my phone and was walking home.
i was 150m from my house.
i was standing underneath a streetlight to answer a text.
i was cold.
i was 17.
i wore those close because i felt good about myself.
he came out of the dark.
he was evil in his eyes.
his hands covered my mouth and wrapped around my neck.
i tried to fight against him as he dragged me away.
i tried to scream.
yell.
bite.
punch.
pull.
get away.
i tried to get away.
but i was asking for this, right?
he held me down against the cold cement.
pulled at my clothes until they ripped.
until my ***** were exposed and my skirt was at my ankles.
until my ******* were nothing but fabric next to my head.
he made sure i didn't make a sound.
he whispered things to me i will never forget.
the feeling of his hands around my throat won't ever go away.
or the way i was used and exposed.
he was stronger than me.
he made his and took everything away from me.
he then left me.
after knocking me out.
left behind a dumpster, i was alone when i woke up.
i was cold.
i was alone.
alone.
alone.
i had nothing left to call clothes.
nothing to cover me.
i was naked.
bare.
vulnerable.
i was only 150m from home.
where i would have been safe.
nobody heard this happen.
The won't tell you it to your face,
but it's always the pretty girls' fault.
as his hands snake to your shirt.
They won't tell you it's his fault,
as your wounds are filled with salt.
They won't tell you it's will okay,
as he leads you on by being fake.
You won't know why it happened to you,
there was know way you could have known.
You won't have any help during the long nights,
where you remember the feeling of his bites.
You won't escape the dark,
and will avoid going to the park.
Mother,
she will blame you for wearing those short skirts.
Father,
will be disappointed at you for lying.
Your younger sister,
will come and cuddle with you even though she is too young.
****!
*****!
DUMB BLONDE!
they say i was asking for it...
that i wore the low cut top for attention...
that my skirt was the purpose of all of this...
because i wore makeup at night...
and my perfume was too sweet and lingered...
they tell me that i am lying...
that it didn't happen like that...
that i wanted it...
they tell me how i felt during it all...
what they don't know:
it was 1:43am when i last checked my phone and was walking home.
i was 150m from my house.
i was standing underneath a streetlight to answer a text.
i was cold.
i was 17.
i wore those close because i felt good about myself.
he came out of the dark.
he was evil in his eyes.
his hands covered my mouth and wrapped around my neck.
i tried to fight against him as he dragged me away.
i tried to scream.
yell.
bite.
punch.
pull.
get away.
i tried to get away.
but i was asking for this, right?
he held me down against the cold cement.
pulled at my clothes until they ripped.
until my ***** were exposed and my skirt was at my ankles.
until my ******* were nothing but fabric next to my head.
he made sure i didn't make a sound.
he whispered things to me i will never forget.
the feeling of his hands around my throat won't ever go away.
or the way i was used and exposed.
he was stronger than me.
he made his and took everything away from me.
he then left me.
after knocking me out.
left behind a dumpster, i was alone when i woke up.
i was cold.
i was alone.
alone.
alone.
i had nothing left to call clothes.
nothing to cover me.
i was naked.
bare.
vulnerable.
i was only 150m from home.
where i would have been safe.
nobody heard this happen.
The won't tell you it to your face,
but it's always the pretty girls' fault.
