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to be a woman is to perform
to learn to dress for men,
to perform for the male gaze
to be asked by aunts,
“when am i going to get grandchildren?”
and to be told by uncles
that ive grown in all the right places
im not even able to look at the clothes
that hot hands had burnt through
touching, feeling, squeezing
remembering their hands on me
i don't want revenge,
i just want to take a shower
his lips curl into a whistle as i walk the street
“looking good, baby”
im wearing sweats and a hoodie
“smile more!”
make me laugh.
i don't feel like it right now, i say
“it'll be quick, please” he replies back
and i'm left feeling disgusted the next day
maybe i'll take another shower.
scrolling on my phone, a cute video of a little girl
I go to check the comments
“game is game”
“if she can bleed she can breed”
i close my phone, scared what this world has come to
my friend tells a story about how she got *****
and crazy enough, we all relate
and with girls we've never even met before
bonding over our **** cases
“don’t sit like that,” says my grandmother
“it's not lady-like.”
it doesn't matter how far i slouch in my seat
how much i manspread
even if its not lady-like, he’ll do it anyways
because he takes ******* as an invitation
even from a young girl
who doesn't even know how to count all the way to fifty
“dont tell your parents– it's our secret”
hands cover my mouth as i tell myself it's normal
this is what family does, what men do
and suddenly i'm too afraid to look at my own father
i talk to a guy, he's funny
and then he makes a **** joke
i thought you were one of the good ones
foolish
i live each day in fear
is it safe to walk out?
no, we can't live there
the ****** assault cases are high.
when will we ever be free?
when will women be equal to men
and not just equal to pleasure?
filled with rage, i remind myself
i cannot do anything.
because
to be a woman is to perform
Tired of fighting
I just want to get along
I'm sorry that I joke around with you
That's the only way I know how to cope
I'm sorry that I'm too weird
I'm such a ******* creep
I'm sorry that I threaten to touch you everyday
I'm sorry that I touch your thighs everyday
I should change myself
I'm too stupid to notice that's clearly SA
I'm probably too used to it
I probably thought it was normal from all the groping
I know how it feels
Yet I keep doing it
I can't change myself
I can't handle it
Slap me across the face and tell me to be quiet
Go on
Please
It'll help me
Go as hard as you can
Leave red marks on my cheeks
Allow it to bruise
I'll do this for you
Cyberstalked, SA'd by multiple different people, manipulated and yet I decide to pass it on to a different person. I swear I'm such a ******* disappointment. Why do people even enjoy hanging out with me?
Archer Apr 28
I can’t tell the difference between platonic
And romantic love
I’m sorry for believing you just meant to be
friendly
I’m sorry for believing that those touches were friendly
I’m sorry for enabling this by acting friendly
Maybe I just felt in need
Of a friend
Sunshine02 Apr 21
The first time,
You felt warm—
like hands on my shoulders
pulling me out
of my own mind.

You offered escape
in a form I could swallow.
You didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t care why I hurt.
You just promised I wouldn’t feel it.

And I believed you.

I let you in.
Again and again.
Until I forgot how to live
without you.

You were the only thing
that ever made it stop—
the noise,
the ache,
the weight of being me.
One hit,
and the world melted
into something I could finally survive.

I watched my life shrink,
choice by choice,
until all that was left
was the next high,
the next lie,
the next hollow nod toward nothing.

And when I ran out of money,
you ran out of mercy.
You left me alone
Empty
broken,
with no one but myself
and the thought of ending it all.

But the money ran out
long before the cravings did.
Withdrawals don’t care
about bank accounts
or promises.
They come like fire—
bones screaming,
skin crawling,
begging for your relief
in any form.

And so I did
what I swore I never would.

I laid down my worth
like loose change
and let strangers take what they wanted
in exchange for a high
that never lasted long enough
to forget what I’d done.

It didn’t feel like choice.
It felt like drowning,
like grabbing any hand I could
even if it pulled me deeper.

That was my rock bottom.
Not some dramatic fall—
just the quiet realization
that I had survived you

And somehow,
in the ruins,
I reached for help
instead of you.

Treatment didn’t fix me—
but it planted something
where you used to live:
hope.

Five years without you.

I clawed back from the edge
of the grave you dug for me.
I faced the rage you left behind,
the shame, the scars, the debt
you demanded in every breath.

And here’s the final blow:
I’m a paramedic now.
Despite the odds.
Despite your vendetta.
Despite the nights you tried to **** me.

I wear a uniform,
not to hide my past,
but to prove I survived it.
I carry Narcan on my back  
and hope in my hands.
I race into chaos
to save the ones you nearly stole—
because I know how precious
one more heartbeat can be.

I see your shadow in every overdose call,
in every lifeless face
I try to pull back from the dark.
You sit in the corner
while I force oxygen into their lungs
And push Narcan into their veins
smirking like the devil I once knew.
And I always say a big ******* I my head
When we get them back

Because you tried to **** me—
but I became a lifeline.

You almost had me.
But almost doesn’t count.

I’m still here.
And I am everything
you said I’d never be.
kim Apr 15
The smell of fresh oranges
Hit my nose
I look down
You pick and pull at the peel

The underside of your fingernails
Have residue
As you poked and stabbed
At the pure fruit

Sweet juice drips down your hand
You move your head down
And lick it up
Your unhesitant lick sends shivers down my spine

You see me starring from above
My face of utter disgust
As blood drips down my thighs
And I lay paralyzed.
Give me your thoughts. Have a good day :)
The things you’ve taken from me
cannot be counted,
cannot be listed,
cannot be measured

like the passage of time since that day
where I have stagnated,
the taste of my own blood

still rich upon my tongue
and other tastes that are not mine,
now belonging to me

a memory torn to pieces
yet burning with white hot precision

I have buried myself in blankets,
drink, drugs and denial

but I cannot change the truth
the bloodied, fleah torn fact
that you were once

inside me
Izan Almira Mar 31
A fly lazily perched on my computer,
it brushed its legs against each other.
Like you used to.

I stared at its black eyes,
dark like your gaze when you gripped me by hand
and pulled me away into your bedroom.

I remember how dark the world seemed
when I shut my eyes,
counting every second.
Hoping that it’d make it fade,
make it stop,
make it less real.

But the fly’s legs were thin, fragile, small,
tiny the same way I felt powerless
when you were around.

And then the fly flew away.
It swept through the window, free.
Oblivious to my catching breath,
while I hyperventilated
trapped between the memories
of what you have already forgotten.
I'm not native so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes on the poem, I hope they're not too anoying and you can enjoy it regardless.
You cut me and left self-inflicted scars,
You tore me open and apart with my own hands,
You took something away from me that can't be replaced,

And now I will never be whole again.
A piece of my poem "Torn"
Playing on the multiple interpretations of the title.
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