The unkindness was done to us, but now we are the unkindness.
We are people turned victim turned survivor turned raven,
Grouped together to fight the evil we were violated with.

We are creatures of pain, and we are creatures of protection.
We are creatures of mourning, and we are creatures of empathy.
We are creatures of misery, and we are creatures of wisdom.

And we will croak, caw, warble, and scream
Just so we know we are not alone.

[April is ****** Assault Awareness Month.]

“****** Assault Awareness Month” is *******.

For 30 days you’ll wear a teal ribbon and hold “We Believe Survivors” signs.

But
Should I thank you for 30 days of ally-ship?
No.
Did you believe me on March 31st?
No.
Will you believe me on May 1st?
No.

30 days.
You’ll scream
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Believe survivors
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Support Survivors
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Hold rapists accountable.
ALLY
Bull. ****.

Go ahead and pretend ****** assault only happens in April.
Throw out your teal ribbons on May 1st
because it’s not ****** Assault Awareness Month anymore.
You don’t have to care anymore.

But I do.
What my rapists did is something I live with
335 more days
than you’ll care about an issue.

You don’t realize the ribbons you pin your bags and shirts are
smaller
than the
bruises he left on my thighs
But
you don’t care what one survivors thinks of you
so long as the world knows that
for 30 days, you wore a teal ribbon

Your message of ally-ship
30 days a year
doesn’t erase
your hypocrisy the other
335 days.

The Polite Victim
When I tell someone I’m a **** survivor
They wanna know how long ago it happened
Like the trauma or the pain is like some kind of sidewalk paint on the outside of our bodies
that after time gets washed away by our own tears
Or maybe the rain
When I respond that I was five
They say “ no, I mean, you know, the last time”
Even though they don't really need to know that's the only trauma right now I'm willing to let go
because these days it's all about how much skin you show
I step below my thirst for the end of ignorance
Satisfy their interests
And choose to be the polite victim
But then they expect me to be willing to try and understand him when I’d rather cut off
Every
limb
Like they expect me to be fine because I've had “all this time” to “get over it”
But just like physical wounds, wounds like these never heal completely
There’s always a scar left behind to reveal
And if you peel back my metaphorical layers
You’ll see that scar  
I understand that
To
most people out there that's all we are
is a body
But I am not a body, I have a body
A body that's meant to protect my soul, a body that he almost stole...from me
But you cannot have a body and be a body at the same time
what a random thought
Have you ever noticed how every slam poet says ‘body’ the same way
Because deep down we all feel the same way
about it
We spit it out like it's some kind of disgusting
Like it betrays us, like the word itself betrays us
But really it doesn't
Not any more than a car does when it slides on black ice
It’s not the car’s fault, it’s the environment its exposed to
And possibly our fault too for not recognizing it’s limits
But I, for once, will not give it that power,
I am done converting my hatred for my body
Into hatred for myself

It was around midnight
I was alone with you
You filled my blood with alcohol
Little did I know what you knew

You wouldn’t keep your hands off me
As if I didn’t have a choice
Forcing yourself onto me
I couldn’t seem to find my voice

I tried to push you away
As you pulled me closer to you
I told you to leave
But you stuck to me like glue

The next morning
I tried to ***** up all of my tears
But your hands were tattoos on my body
And the look in your eyes became my biggest fears

You see, I was a steady moving girl
And you broke me in two
Now I’m chained to my fear
And I can’t seem to break through

You stole my freedom
And left me with paranoia and deep cuts
I want to tell the whole wide world
But you know I'll never have the guts

You've no idea how much damage you did
Just the scent of that night haunts me
I have nowhere to turn
There’s no place to where I can flee

I can't seem to escape you
If only I could count to three
I have just one question for you
Why me?

When you pushed me onto the bed, your hands roaming, reaching a goal, breath twisted with alcohol, shivered in pain, stood up, tried to breathe, tried to leave, kissed my innocence and left me feeling at blame. Scared in the school hallways, rumours ran towards me and away from you, police questioned me and watched you walk to class while I walked into an interview. “Did you say no?” Did I? No. You can’t talk when you can’t breathe.

you are seventeen and he is younger but so much bigger. you feel like a doll in his palm. you are unaware that his hands between your legs is a contract. He lays you down on your back, and you turn your heard to the TV. Moana is playing.

2. he pulls you to his chest and you whisper, "promise me I won't regret it." he smiles and kisses your forehead. the next day, he tells you he doesn't know if he loves you or not. you regret it.

3. you are almost asleep and his hands keep wandering. you close your eyes tighter. you wish you were dead.

4. he tells you that you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but you know that it's the only way to keep him from leaving. Afterwards, he wipes the tears from your chin and holds you close to his heart, so gentle and soft. you almost feel at home.

5. he leaves. You have to begin picking up the pieces somewhere but you never really find out where to start. a year passes. It has been twelve months of rain but the sun begins to peak out behind its curtain of clouds. you rest.

I want to feel loved.

I crave the melting of flesh into mine.
Boiling pores and sweating fingertips
tracing my face.
I lace myself into your hair and make myself a nest.
I am safe,
but not for long.

For I will never feel safe again,
not in your arms,
not in the arms of any.
I am *****,
soiled,
used,
empty.

I am not a body of love,
No longer a *** of milk tea
on a cold day.
Watercolour stains wash away with water.

I am viper,
I am splinters,
hangnails,
and paper cuts.

I will never be soft again,
and it’s your fault.
I will never forgive you for that.