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The world still doesn't care about girls.

We still tell them to shout fire.

We still tell them that they will be called a liar.

We say your shoulders are distracting

And we tell you that you're overreacting  

That your learning is less important than his.

Why don't we tell our boys that girls are not objects to play with

That this isn't something you'll get away with

And have it be true

The world still doesn't care about girls

They said I was confused, that I misunderstood

Is this what it means to enter adulthood?

It means we're punished for being open?

Or having to pretend we were just joking?

I wasn't a child, I was eighteen years old.

Now I carry it, it comes back around, like the flu or a cold

When it's someone you know

Someone you should be able to trust, where do you even go?

We live in a world where men think being accused

Is the same as being sexually abused.

Where if a woman says something, she's just lighting a fuse.

But I'm starting a fire because I'm sick of living in hues of gray.

I don't want to sit back and pretend I didn't lose something

And then I turn on the tv and feel sick if I watch the news

I see we live in a society where we teach girls to protect themselves

We tell them to make sure he rapes a different girl, not you.

One in three women they say, make sure it's not you.

The world still doesn't care about girls

And when we speak up, we're told he won't be punished.

So why bother saying anything at all?

We're told we won't be believed.

Well not today, not for me.

I'm tired of somedays, and maybe they'll see.

We live in a world where girls clothes are regulated

To make sure it's the boys who are educated.

We tell our girls their cases won't be advocated

That boys will be boys, and their comfort is overrated.

You're still to blame because you don't want

To be treated the way you treat women

And then you don't want to be the villain

Catcalling us on the streets

But what if it was your daughter, your mother, your niece?

Defending yourself, saying we can't take a compliment

And we have no choice but silence when you're dominant.

The world still doesn't care about girls

You walk down the street without a care

But we worry we'll be trapped in some nightmare

Make sure it isn't you.
The world still doesnt care about girls

She'll always be more drunk, showing more skin, be more alone

And when you say nothing, you don't even realize you condone it

When you say she was drunk, it was her fault,

And you're saying it wasn't really an assault

I won't be silenced,

Not in the face of this violence

Not when a boy can **** a girl and get three months

Where they can sit back and call us ****** and *****

Not when he can 'grab em by the *****'

But if I say something, they'll just shoot me down or call me pushy.

I'm tired of meaning nothing

I'm tired of them thinking touching

Without permission is their given right

And how dare we try to fight

The world still doesn't care about girls

My words demands to be spoken,

And I refuse to be broken.
Drab Oct 25
OK.
Shhhhhh.
I’m going to tell you.
It’s about…………..

Suh..
Suh..
***.

Donut’s do it!
Call me immediately!
Jim!!!
It’s your life, guardian ******…..
Notes - think a, round,  object, a dot and your toilet. If you are above the
eauate - or, or, the sensation, will change to the opposite direction.
Uzziah Ruffin Sep 13
Hello to the 3-year-old who lost innocence early,
Losing a world of purity and light.
Now grown, shedding a face set to default
For one deemed "acceptable"

What does your true face resemble now,
As you mold to fit in?
Do you still grasp the understanding of your expressions?

The thoughts haunting your mind,
Are they the norm you perceive?
Staring at the ceiling,
Heart fluttering in panic.

Is it fear that grips you,
Or a fleeting relief?
Does the weighty silence
Lead you to seek solace in music?

Where do you wander
As rhythms loop endlessly?

A day will dawn, breaking
This cycle of self-neglect.
How will transformation manifest?
A lily in hand, turning crimson,
Or finding peace amidst wilted petals?

Eyes meet with supposed warmth,
Yet fear misconstrues as judgment.
The first syllable of your name
Raises goosebumps of dread.

Visible and heard, unwanted,
In the unmerciful words of others.
Sinking deeper into masks,
Straying from true selves.

Why are your smiles held with
Scotch tape and glue,
Holding despite the cuts of insults?
How do you continue
As a mere stepping stone for others?

Answers unfold within the hourglass
As we journey on, unsure.
Uzziah Ruffin Sep 10
Escaped from fears
Smiles hiding tears
Yet Unable to sleep
Emotions Buried so deep

Losing a friend
Trying to comprehend
A candle snuffed out
Turning away in doubt

A father deceased
Farwell, We feast
Another sky turned gray
Hearts left in disarray

Return of Wrongdoer
Smiles become fewer
Drugs to help cope
Losing what little hope

Feelings to address
Family in distress
A mother points blame
A heart left maimed

Apology never received
False affections believed
Silent the line stays
As I've departed ways
All in 1 year, I lost my step dad, my cat, and my grandfather. After my step dad passed, my "older brother" who had also made me a victim came back into the house I loved in. I tried my best to keep the peace and pretend he wasn't there but eventually I had a panic attack and had to go to the hospital and everything got let out. My mother acted as if she supported me but in the end, she was only looking out for herself. I ended up leaving without a plan and cut all contact with her and him. 22 years of silence finally breaks and my world turned upside down.
Z May 2021
TW: r#pe culture

anxiety-riddled,
my head is a constant battle of sounds
and feelings crashing
like waves into each other;
interference scares me.
as does being out of rhythm,
missing too many beats — i am
conflict-averse but i am also
realistic:

i know that
sound travels faster
through solids and liquids
than through the air,
can be distorted
and interfered
into oblivion—
that when
push comes to shove,
whisper networks
can only reach so far.

scores of screaming matches
between metoo advocates and r#pist apologists
crescendos of nails
scraped across a board
feel a bit too familiar
like listening to white noise and broken records on repeat
while scrolling through toiletpaperworthy nonapologies
witnessing victims collectively crying in an orchestra of agony
and then be blamed for attention-seeking at best,
of causing their own suffering at worst.

although it pains me to listen to these tragic tunes,
it is amusing how so many mishear this collective choir as
survivors celebrating with silly receipts in cancel parties
serving blistering hot tea sweetened by revenge - no

all this is anything but
cathartic.

it’s to make people aware
that the same melodies are sung or screamed
  by those who suffered similar pains
and so that those of a similar frequency know
there are those who listen
that their voice matters
and we are not alone.

- 20210315
last updated: 20210531
indi May 2021
when i was eleven
older men always complimented me
i was apparently so mature for my age
yet so young and docile.
when i grew,
men stopped liking me.
too outspoken,
they'd say.
too difficult,
they'd say.
no fun,
they'd say.
and now often i wonder
why it the beauty standard
reflective of a little girl?
hairless,
soft-spoken,
dependent,
innocent.
yet they are the ones who have made us so
outspoken
independent,
mature-
women, now and then,
were not allowed
to be anything besides a ****** object
we were denied
the simplicity of childhood.
we were blowing bubbles on the sidewalk
when men drove by
catcalling us.
society hates our displays of sexuality
when they were the ones who sexualised us.
funny
isn't it?
Eva Tongali May 2021
i kept your compliments in a locket
your sweet whispers wrapped in lace
i did not care about the harsh words
even when they ran down my face
and the blood trickled down and mixed with my tears
you still said i looked pretty that day
and i know it’s been two years
but do you still want to be my prom date?
for the girls in high school who never got their date to the prom
Erin Suurkoivu May 2021
Before that August--

(strange month                                        echo)--

bloomed in the east
sunrise bomb                                           sunset dawn

you sometimes
                                                                   rose
(unbidden)

to the surface
of my mind.

These were some of my triggers:

Calgary                                                     (always Calgary)
me too
Christmastime.

And all the times                                     you attempted
to reach out to me

(sucker punch                                          sleep ****).

And then that August--

(good mornin'                                         bombshell)

the news--
for shame.

For I had fallen for the lie
(while you talked all the while
                                                                 in your human voice).

So you like 'em young.
So you like it rough.

August sun                                            beat me down.

It took this glaring
of a light

to show me
the darkest                                             of men's natures--

and that I knew them
intimately.
KyleB Apr 2021
Not all flowers have thorns
but roses do

roses are special, they are beautiful
just to the likes of you

so many flowers are pretty
but nothing compares
to the aesthetic of roses

and that's why they are aware.

their thorns protect them
they are born to fight

but they keep us silent,
cut our voices
they make us die

some people don't like roses
or don't like their thorns
they'll cut off their leaves
because they aren't thorns
and they'll cut down the thorns because nothing should be in the way

of their love

or so they say

when they cut our thorns
they are so proud
but do they know they take the rain out of clouds?

they break the spell,
they obstruct the beauty
sometimes they go ahead and just shoot me

I wonder, I wonder
oh dear rose of mine
why you die, oh you die
without your thorns sublime

not all flowers are roses
but none wishes to be
for the life of a rose

is as miserable as torture makes us be
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