i laid on the bed completely defeated
with tears in my eyes and a handprint that left my skin heated.
i said no, and i meant it.
but you begged, you just couldn't accept it.
after you ****** me and used me at your disposal
you turned away from me and the phone screen lit up your face
so i turned my back on you and cried into stained sheets.
i never looked at my body the same
after you branded my body with your all-too-common name.

One friend persues the other
Cloaked in twisted fantasies
Oblivious to her discomfort
His ears unwilling to hear the word
                             "No"
Making comments unsolicited
Longing looks innappropriate

She doesn't want it.

Everything always seemed to happen by your house,
and hidden by the trees.

It was a couple weeks after I slapped you.
We were in the woods again.
The snow was melting, and the frozen muddy ground
was visible again.
I sat down on a log, and you sat next to me.

"I really want to try. Can we please just try it?"

You looked at me, pleading for me to try to have *** with you.
But the thing is, you knew I'd never had *** before.
I was scared, and you knew that.

"If you loved me, you would try."

Being fifteen years old and a suicidal wreckage,
I didn't want you to leave me.
I was naïve enough to think this was love.
I agreed that I would try, not that it would go anywhere.

You laid down your jacket, so that neither of us would get muddy.
I started to pull off my pants, but I left my underwear on.
I just wanted to get used to the idea of your **** near that area.
I explained that to you, and you seemed to get it.

"Are you ready?"

I told you no, that I wasn't ready for any of this.
But I would do it for you because I love you.
You pulled off my underwear, and got yourself into position.
My heart was pounding. I kept saying for you to go slow.
And you did.

As your **** began to touch, I started to panic.
I was stuck, frozen in terror.
I had never had *** before, and I 100%  knew I wasn't ready to yet.
As you put your tip in, I remember that it started to hurt really bad.

"STOP. STOP. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS, PLEASE STOP."

You didn't though.
Instead, you pinned me down,
putting your weight against my struggling body.

"No, I don't want to. Just let me get it in once, and then I'll stop."

My heart dropped.
This is where I began to panic.
I felt you try to put it in just a little more, but the pain was too much.
I let out a small scream, and then I started to cry.

And that's where you started to panic.
You got off of me, looking hurt and upset.
I put my clothes back on, and you picked up your jacket.

I was reeling. I was scared.
And you were mad because your jacket got *****.
I was still crying, and after what seemed like an eternity you
asked if I was okay.
I played it off like everything was fine.
Heaven forbid I hurt you.

Yes. That was just really scary. I asked you to stop, and you didn't and I just got nervous, that's all.

We went to your house.
You walked me home.

19 and held down by her shoulders
her shirt still on, he doesn’t try to remove it
it’s a hastily act that wakes her up abruptly as a penetrating pain spreads over a low section of her body
she feels like a ragdoll so out of control, like she can’t scream for help because she didn’t say no to the first or second time but now she’s asleep and surely that’s a sign
his hands on her neck and she thinks it’s just ***** but it’s to muffle her cries and make him seem less guilty
it’s the third man she’s been with and she’s confused about counting it, she didn’t say yes but she still has to guess whether she should remember this and try to grow or remember it and let it cover the glow

We screamed to be heard, marched to express our rage. To bleed with our fallen sisters, for I am her, and she is me. We all lived each other’s suffering.

The dust has settled now, quiet returned.
Yet I still can’t breath. I am still not safe.

I cry silently for my country. I no longer connect to her. My love and pride is only filled with disappointment. She has left me sad, and empty and afraid.

My son asked me, “Why do you refer to South Africa as a she?” I look at him dumbstruck, he continues, “Perhaps SHE has always been a HE!”

This realization is hard to swallow.
This... scares me half to death.

At a young age
Us girls learn
That the theft
Of our choice
Our pure untouched skin
And our freedom of deciding
Who gets to touch it
The theft
Of our innocence
Our youth
Our ability to say no
That theft
Is less punishable
Than the theft
Of a man's wristwatch