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i slipped off my blood stained underwear
i stepped in the hot shower and tried to scrub every part of you off me
every inch you touched
but i still felt what you stole from me
Ann Terrin Feb 23
Try harder, so I do
Still reaching for the fix
My mind cannot bear another year of six
It’s in his hands so what will I do

He yells and yells louder ...
I’m waiting
I’m waiting
I’m waiting on you

Fix this and do that
Can you ever just, STOP!
Hours, minutes, second on your clock

The label of duty of a wife on Shabbat
Your intent was evil and always with plot
Spread your legs!  
Shut your mouth!
Let my birthright inside you
Alone in my mind
But I had to abide you

I cried ‘till you finished
Left burned and diminished
Curled up
Dead inside with nothing left to give
Yet, you demanded more if I wanted to live

These unspoken vows
How could I have known
I wasn’t a Jew
How could I be ******

You are nothing without me
I will take as I please
Your screams are useless as I enter with ease

My distain was certain and I fought to withhold
I could not bear your touch and prayed to die cold
Your punishment loomed always
You made me guess “when”
I hid in our closets pulling my soul further in

You were never worthy to be at my feet
You serve as my slave and you are now mine to keep

As I grew out my armor
I hoped it could repel
Your disgusting hands
You inadequate male

For your spirit was cold
It was mean
It was old
You were born self-entitled
Adorned self-proclaimed gold

Even cancer can’t change you
Not even a bit
Still abusive as ever
Still living to spit

Your host is so evil
The most rotten apple from her tree
I wish her the deepest of pains for creating the abuser you'd be  
The sounds of her mouth
All the stink of her too
A pick-and-choose Jew  

You’re chosen you say
So, what, you don’t need to abide
By the laws of, The Book
Alas, The Book, has two sides

You choose what you want and ignore all the rest
Your go to MO
You've both mastered it best

Still dutifully married
Our life torn apart wide
Clenching me tightly
Prancing me around with your pride

My treasured dose of sanity
My kind, handsome man
Whisking me away often
As much as we can

Treasured secret moments will eternally stay
Wishing Room 622 could be our home every day
But not yet, there is still much left to do
Until he dies
Until you are through

But as I grow older, I begin to whither and fade
I still deal with my devil to whom I’m enslaved
When will he go?
I’ve asked and begged why
I’ll ask for forgiveness when I can no longer cry

Now finally, I stand over you
Lifeless and cold
Your soul still infested with hatred and mold

My last mitzvah of dirt I’ll gladly shovel with ease
To finally breath that longed moment of peace
Peace from your self-hatred
Jealous of me ever more
I sigh the deepest breath as dirt covers your door  

Cry one last time …

I have no more tears
You stole them from me when you ***** me for years
Academic conversations about consent are a pure form of agony,
Listening to students and Professor toss around the word like it's a hypothetical commodity,
As if there is question that autonomy and dignity belong to every living thing in that room.
We are asked to dissect the most intimate of physical safeties as if this is a lesson in biology,
Solve 'consent' like a particularly challenging calculus problem,
Pretend as if this didn't happen in the confines of my body.
It's excruciating to have to take an equation,
We'll start with y=mx+b,
And calculate which variables determine basic human decency.
I was young, female, gay, autistic, bipolar,
Clinging to his professions of love like they could stitch the gaping emotional wounds,
And somehow that didn't make me human when he did the math.
I don't know how to argue, Professor, with which philosophical tools,
Professor, that I was a person, Professor,
When he decided to **** me.
isang hawak na di ginusto
nagsimula sa panghihipo
pag iisip mo'y kasing dumi
ng burak sa estero
nalilito natutuliro
magsasalita ba ako?
kapangyarihan mo'y inabuso
ginamit para bumango ang pangalan mo
para maitago mo ang halimaw na nagbigay ng lamat sa buhay ko.

Isang gabi! isang gabi lang!
nadurog ang pagkatao ko.
kinulong mo sa madilim na nakaraan tulad ng pagkulong mo  sa akin
sa madilim at maliit na kwartong iyon
mabilis ang pintig
naririnig bawat kabog ng dibdib
paralisa ang katawan
di makasigaw
tulong! tulong! mga salitang tila naipit
sa aking lalamunan.

halik na di ko ginusto
yakap na di ko hiniling sayo
mga hawak sa aking katawan
nandidiri ako sayo
seksuwal na panghahalay
di ko nararapat pagdaanan

lamat na di malilimutan
lamat na mananatiling parte ng nakaraan
di mo na ko maapektuhan
ang lamat na bigay mo
ang aapakan ko
ang magiging boses ko

para maparating ang mensaheng ito

walang sinuman ang dapat makaranas nito!
walang sinuman ang dapat mabuhay ng may takot mangyari ulit sa kanila ito.
walang babae ang mahahalay base sa kanilang pananamit, kilos o pananalita.

ang lamat na bigay mo,
andito man ito
pero di na ito hadlang
sa muling pag ahon ko.
Fame Flame Feb 16
Scars, that I’ve been hiding all my life
With scarves
Bruises, witness of what the truth is
Red eyes, brimming pearls of lost truces
Yelling, Blaming and banners of ‘Deserved it’
Never saw the alarm signs
They were not bold enough, like me
Always told that I’m fine, when I couldn’t even breathe
Maybe it’s been hash on me lately and
I don’t wanna make you too feel low
Maybe just pull me closer and never let me go
Cause the scars are now aching
And the bruises, deep blue
The pearls are now sold for ground breaking news
The yelling has me shaken; I stand with heart that’s broken
Too many times like my body
But you’re innocent, oddly.
Scarves, that have been hiding scars for long
I put them free
Cause I again, wanna feel like me.
This work was inspired by the constant headlines of ****** assaultment and abuse, regardless of gender. As a teeneger myself, all these thoughts take over me,as I take out my pen and paper and ponder the pain.
To all the fighters out there who've gone through immense and unimaginable extents of mental trauma, I give you this work of poetry. More power to you!
Memories slink like silken specters
Across my barren walls
With sticky fingers that pick pocket
My peace of mind,
Steal my sleep,
Leaving sweaty handprints across my skin
And the faint taste of a scream that died on my tongue.
I tell myself that I am safe now.  
Not a soul has breathed in this room since I examined every cranny.
Even I am existing on borrowed air,
As sleep slips so dearly missed from my grasp.
I guard my secrets in darkness while 4 am lingers heavy in this space,
Wishing unconsciousness to take me to a land
Where my heart doesn’t race in terror at every noise,
The shame of what I allowed to be done to me doesn’t echo in my mind,
And the scars are not so tender to the touch.
If only I should be so lucky.
The ghosts are restless in the way they haunt my body tonight.
bs Feb 1
and in that deafening silence,
i’ve never wished more to be heard,
wracked with endless demurs of regret and remorse –
impure, impure, impure.

but it’s my choice, isn’t it?
to bear the knot of pearls come undone,
to feel it shift from skin to soul,
to speak of loving, and then let go.
(i see this now as a luxury i could not afford.) iii.
if i don’t rise come blooming spring,
ring the church bells for those left unheard,
wash the red from the bed sheets,
please unhinge my strife from the earth;

and know this:

a man is no longer a man,
after his unbidden pillage,
has left an innocent soul shaken;

holy, holy, holy.
Maria Jan 28
Names are an integral component of our identities:
Differentiating us from others and signifying worth.
In a seemingly minute psychological attempt at comfort,
I’ve refused to extend the courtesy of using his preferred name.

He has stolen from my body and my mind.
In return, I have bestowed upon him a new name.
He ***** me in the fourth month of 2018;
I’ve taken to calling him April.

For being the smallest tool I’ve personally seen,
The aftermath was catastrophic.
April’s ***** should be labeled a weapon of mass destruction:
Dealing our ******, genital warts and an endless supply of nightmares.

As a giver of unwanted gifts,
April contributed *****
Fertilizing an egg
That resolved itself in a ****** mess on my aunt’s bathroom floor.

I still can’t quite grasp
How a miscarriage could provoke
Such simultaneous emotions
Of relief and devastation.

Three years later and I’m assembling my shards into something that resembles a whole.
I’m finally able to present one more name.
To the child that once occupied my womb:
You are Selah, a break in the singing.
Maria Jan 28
Persistent reminders of the night he
Taped my mouth shut preventing all
Screams from my seemingly
Destitute body
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