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Neelam 4d
Residual image
of a haunted mind,
Emptied of the
weightless innocence,
Dearth of sensitivity
towards the life
in her bloodstream.

Temptation blaring
inconspicuous flames,
seeking to devour the
unsuspecting damsel,
Wholesale damnation
taunted her fragile
bones, unveiled,
bare with uncoated

Dark stains blotted
out her purity,
roaming monsters
robbed conserved
dignity, violated
her conscience
and pride.
The first time it happened I was 5
I was lured by candy as children are
All I can remember is hands and pain
And being told to not remember
And I when I speak on it
All I can hear is familial silence
And stares that tell me to not speak up at all
When CPS came knocking on the door
I covered for him.
My mom asked me why
Why I didn’t tell her all these years
My response was simple:
I did the first time it happened
It continued still, you were drunk after all
I wasn’t the first he did it to
And I’m sure I wasn’t the last
It’s weird to tell people to not joke about ******
It’s weird to tell people my first experience was when I was five
It’s weird to tell people I remember
It’s weird to pretend I don’t

The second time it happened I was 15
With my first ever boyfriend
I was out cold, and he did as he did
I don’t remember much, but this
He’s checked my pulse and he bragged
For months I didn’t realize what happened
I could not register what it was
I told my mom, I could see she blamed me
I could see trust wane in her rise
I could tell she didn’t see it how it hurt me
I was 15 and asleep
He was 16 and awake
And somehow I blame myself
It’s weird to tell people I still love him
It’s weird to tell people I forgave
It’s weird having to tell people it wasn’t my fault
And it’s weird losing friends over it

Third time it was with my boyfriend again
I wasn’t asleep I wasn’t a child
I was scared
He held me still
I said no but he didn’t know I was serious
Tears slipped out of my eyes
I froze in terror
I cried for hours afterwards
I knew what it was, he knew what it was
I blame myself.
I told him no.
No. No. No.
Now I flinch when someone touches the back of my head
I am wounded
It’s weird to tell people it happened again
It’s weird I still love him after all of it
It’s weird to forgive again
It’s weird

They were hundreds of times between
Of men touching what they weren’t supposed to
Of I’m making comments about me
Coercing me
Making me a part of their perversions
Of believing flirting is ticket for their ****** harassment
Of making me instinctively hate men.
Victim blaming
I am yet a woman
It’s weird to not be a woman
It’s weird to be a talking point
It’s weird to be silenced
It’s weird.
Z May 28
TW: r#pe culture

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

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

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
callie Apr 4
i’m not yours.
i never have been
and for the life of me
i can’t figure out why you thought i was.

was it the way i dressed,
the way i acted,
or simply the look in my eyes?

or was it the things I can’t control,
the curves i grew and
the ******* i had no choice but
to have?

i never wanted this.
i never asked for this.
i don’t want your attention
or your wandering hands.

i want to be free to do what i’d like
just to be,
to just
let myself go.

but i can’t.
all because of a stupid little thing
that should be little
but is seen as big

why did i have to be a woman?

instead of living carefree
i have to be careful.

keep the legs always crossed
wear shirts up to your neck
be respectful
(but not too respectful,
lest they believe
you’re asking them for

but even if
you follow all the rules
they don’t care.

your very body is an invitation.

because what is ****** autonomy
in a male dominated world?

spoiler alert: there isn’t any.
Zatara W Mar 3
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
mio Feb 4
orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves
it fits you perfectly. it looks like it was taylored to your measurements perfectly
i bought it about a year ago
let you wear a part of me i felt safe in
worn proudly you are the boy that i thought would never
i painted a picture of you in my head in which you were perfect
i had sculpted each pore perfectly
placed each thread of your hair on your head but
i guess i must have done something to mess up because the perfect picture i painted
dripped with wet unset paint
on top of me suffocating, i couldn’t move
i could only see your chest covered in the stupid orange sweater
tongue deep down my throat with your hand on my neck
your face is dripping on mine this wasn’t who you were supposed to be
it hasn’t been longer than a week but the days drag on years and pull on gods ears and beg for more time to pass but less and less goes by
never ending i feel like i’m stuck
im in an artblock
your face is gone but it was just there i must have misplaced the brush that i drew your short eyelashes with
whimpering you are but why, was it something i did?
my paint brushes are all intact and my workspace is clean
how could i have messed up
the painting with the orange sweater delicate brown eyes and thick bleach hair is dripping
off the canvas
i haven’t done much other than wait for you to dry our before i can add more on to you
but you won’t dry and you’re on top of me
my neck is wet with the saliva you won’t stop touching me
no i said i would take a break from this canvas but it’s encasing me i cannot leave
i messed up havent i
wonder why i did to deserve this
im using my fingers to put your streaky smile back in place don’t look at me like that please
i have to ask for you to leave i cannot stand the shade of orange you’re wearing being on top of me
please leave
im letting you out to dry

in the same position i can’t move
my neck is casted by guilt i must have done something wrong
looking back that couldn’t have been you
it must have been the wrong medium
your acrylic is dry and patched you couldn’t have torn me down like the thin canvas dripping with trauma filled sweat
no because you would never let yourself wear something mine while you took myself from my own body
youre the boy i painted over and over in my head just to get you right
hold my hand let’s go for a walk hold me tight because the wind against my cheek causes a shiver down my spin
lift my head up to glance at the intentional light because you know i’m scared of looking down at the petrifying dark
but you burned my eyes and i am no longer mine the painting is ruined and i can’t fix it
but that’s not who i planned for you to be you would never do that because i don’t mess up the watercolor goes on thick paper while you go on premeditated canvas
was it me?
have i misread but i do not misread i am not an idiot it’s not my fault you chose to do this yet i cant not feel this in my chest
im a failed artist with a body stolen in disgust
i want my orange sweater with wrinkled sleeves back
Rett Dec 2020
I want you to hold me tight and feel my muscles tense up
I want you to caress my face and watch as I force myself to stay
I want you to touch me until I start to shake
I want you to feel my body shutter beneath your hand
I want you to know how much I crave you and how sick it makes me feel
Song recommendation:
cleobug Dec 2020
i wish i had said no to you
i think about it all the time

i can’t let [ it ] go
i wish i could forget
( if i don’t think about it, it won’t hurt.. right? )

i swear i had said no to you
maybe you just didn’t wanna hear it

i can still feel your hands on me
i wish i had made you listen
( pretending something didn’t happen doesn’t make it so )

i took pills instead of chances
i thought i was healed
but this is only the beginning

there’s no failing
it’s a process
slow progress is still progress

forgive yourself
keep going
keep g r o w i n g

hurt as long as you need to
hurt as LOUD as you need to
cleobug Dec 2020
miles away
i’m feeling F a r  A w a y…
i see myself and i just float (t)here
waiting to wake up from this fog

things are hazy
curse that **** juice
what happened exactly?
the words are heavy on my tongue…

can’t get myself to spit them out
can’t get myself to speak the truth
can’t get myself to admit what you did to me

out of character behavior
out of body experience

you don’t remember
i’m sorry i’m holding onto things you forgot all about

i tried to use you as an antidepressant
you just used me
i should have left my feelings for you at the door

i wish i had said no to you
i wish i had been given the choice

i’ve got to let it go (but when? and how?)
if i don’t think about it, it won’t hurt.. right?
gotta focus on someday cuz today hurts a little too much

i wish i could stop thinking about this
i wish i could forget you
i wish you could understand that i don’t hate you
i just wish i’d never met you
some old writing
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