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Regan Sep 22
if you put your hand on my leg one more time
i’m going cut it off
to let you know how it feels to have no choice.
if you touch my belongings one more time
i’m gonna smash yours
to let you know how it feels to be less fortunate.
if you make me feel small one more time
i am going to scream
to let you know that you don’t have control.

so if you decide to do any of these things,
i will simply do to the same to you.
shout out to the boy in my geometry class who’s about to get yelled at by an angry girl who’s had enough.
Toast Ghost Aug 3
Please stop talking to me your breath smells like death, your creeping me out and without a doubt if you come any closer to my face I swear untill next year you'll be in a brace.
Srsly tho guys, if you don't want to do something or you know your too young, don't do it, because that could mess with your entire life, don't be afraid to hit the dude. That goes for guys too, it's uncommon but I know it happens to everyone, consent is important
Iz Jul 29
He is my three week summer
He is the story I’ve never read
He is in the whisper of my friends ear
He is the question my sexuality still hasn’t answered
He is the flush of roses rising from cheeks

He is the new crush
He is the story I just started
He is the reassurance that it’s not just me
He is the ummmm of the future
He is the blossom of beginnings

He is the text I have to answer
He is the story I couldn’t finish
He is the drone of conversation coming to an end
He is the answer I never asked for
He is the flowers given in
Expecting something more
CautiousRain Mar 24
Haven't you heard
that breaking and entering is an offense
and that maybe every attempt
you make to barge into me,
every door you bust open,
every single step forward
into my soul, my energy,
against my will, is trespassing,
and I'll be ******
if you think I won't
take care of a wiley trespasser
like you.
an oldie from march I had just sitting in the abyss
Hanna C S Jul 13
The first time was in the bathroom
Of a club I was four years too young for;
Lessons will be learnt;
Bent over a broken sink;
With my face pressed against the mirror;
My mascara ran rivers down the glass
Carving lines that looked like prison bars.
With rough hands;
He reached inside me;
And broke instruments I hadn’t yet touched;
No wonder I can’t play love songs,
I am still learning how to make love to people I actually love;
But my 14 years were too few to be angry
Didn’t quite know how
Didn’t know quite what he’d done;
And what that might do.
So I hid my thighs and ribs for three weeks ashamed;
My fake ID collected dust
Buried beneath my bed and self-blame.

That first encounter,
Left me frozen in an un-safe
space I couldn’t name
So I wanted time to stop its ticking,
Hold its breath and bite it’s tongue with me
An indefinite moment of silence to commemorate the crime committed,
But lessons would be learnt
As to my horror the cogs in the clocks kept rolling,
Every day since has stacked upon the last,
Racking up years
15: it took more than 365 days to dare to share the guilt,
16:  over 730 to absolve myself,
17: 1095 to say what had happened out loud.

The second time was in my kitchen,
He was a friend between blurred lines;
And ten drinks too many;
Lessons will be learnt.
I don't remember leaving with him
Or getting home.
But I’ve never known how to have *** sober so I guess it’s my fault too.
I woke up with an ache and my shoes still on.
There were no bruises; we are still friends; and I still don’t know who to blame.

The third time,
I was walking home, the air was fresh,
I had my headphones on;
Lessons will be learnt.
His fingers were dry and nails sharp as I froze;
It felt familiar;
His breath was hot;
Soaked wet with alcohol.
The bricks hit my back hard
But I like to think my knuckles hit harder.
I saw my mother the week after
I did not cry as I explained a  purple hand.
At least I had known where to aim it.

The fourth time,
I knew he was dangerous and I liked it,
Lessons will be learnt
With my hands bound above my head
He took control and mine with it;
He savoured every scream I spat;
So I, silently simmering, left my body there sickly still.
I am not a believer
but I told him he’d rot in a hotter part of hell
As he unbuckled me with a malboro red and a laugh that I choked on
So I took the cigarette and gave him a dose of what the devil will do for me,
A small vengeance that burnt like the venom in my veins

I have felt like flames so many times now
Been consumed by violent flickers,
That set this bloodied body ablaze,
But even the biggest bonfires burn out,
And I am no different
My bones are black with char like wearied wood
So when I take the train home I count my bruises;
I'm unsure which ones were left without consent.
there is no such thing as non-consensual ***. There is only *** and assault.
That being said, when it happens so many times, you start to wonder who is really to blame. I don't like this poem, and I'm sure I will rewrite it many times - But certain things must be said.
Renee Jul 10
My dear

Your body is yours to give
But is never anyone else’s to take

Beware the sweet words they will use
To try to win you over
ab Jun 29
“a maybe isn’t a yes”
as you ran your thumb
across my bottom lip

my hesitation was
palpable as my breath
hitched in my trachea

you could see i was
unsure, so you stopped.
“an ‘i don’t know’ isn’t a yes”

without a hint of disappointment
you rolled over and pulled
your shorts back up

over your thighs.
i feared the press towards
“come on, we don’t have all night”

but the press never came.
your roaming hands held me
elsewhere, bewildered and confused

like a creature rescued
from a life of torment
i whispered softly

“yeah, maybe not tonight.”

later you mentioned it took
me so much longer to
give myself to you

than the few girls
you’ve touched before.
if you had held me a few years

ago, we would’ve touched
on the first date, tasted
my anxiety sooner

because my “yes”
has always been one
of wanting to please.

i never wanted those boys
the way i hold you now
all five-foot-ten and blushing

when you pull my hips
to yours, it is without
a hint of deceit, without

the need to feel something
from nothing, without the
intent of simply feeling inside.

my head cradled in your palms-
“is everything okay?”
there is no reluctance

in being honest, no
parsed words- simply tears
and a hug. whether words

or lips, there is safety
with you, a safety that
would be sad to ignore.
~the first person i have ever loved this way
He/She lives in
Her/his thought
His/Her pledges

Meet me
In the dreams

May be
This is how
The world witnessed
The poetry
Genre: Observational
Theme: Guess what?
Ashley Kaye Jun 11
do you hear
like ringing of still bells
sound like precious silver
clinging to the flush of a cheek
The soft sobs of her soul
when you berate her
her whisper but warm breath on your neck
exhale birthing desire
“   no   “
Have your way
Have her sorrow
oh dear. you are mortally worn
by morning
June 2019
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