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Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
every 73 seconds
an American is sexually assaulted.
these statistics do not shock me anymore.
1 in 5 American women have been *****
at some time in their lives.
1 in 71 American men have been *****
at some time in their lives.
in an average year,
there are 433,648 reported
rapes in the United States.
these are only 2 of those stories.
_________


#1
it does not shock me
when my friend calls
and says that she
doesn’t remember
what happened,
but she woke up
lying in a puddle
of her own blood.

it does not shock me
when she’s sobbing
so loudly into
the phone that I
can’t make out any
of her words.

it does not shock me
that I don’t need to
hear her to know
what happened
last night.
I can hear the fear
in her voice.
I can feel her pain.
I already know.

it does not shock me
when I see her sitting
in my passenger seat,
and I automatically know
that she is not fully here.
she left a part of herself
there on that mattress.
looking over at her,
I know that right now,
she is beginning to realize
that she lost something
that she will never
be able to get back.

it should have been hers
to give away,
but it was stolen.
she is the 1 in 5.
_______


#2
it does not shock me
when we walk past
the Auntie Anne’s
in the mall,
and my friend
collapses at the smell
of cinnamon
and sugary pretzels.

it does not shock me
when he apologizes
over and over
and tells me that
he was *****,
and that his ****** was
chewing on a piece of
cinnamon-scented gum.

it does not shock me
that I am holding him
while he shakes and cries
on the floor of the mall.
I want to hug him tighter
and keep him close to me,
but I know that right now,
his mind is already gone.
he feels like he is still there.
he tells me that it feels
like they are hurting him
all over again.
I can’t hold him
tight enough
to bring him back.

it does not shock me
that he waited so long
to tell me this.
it does not shock me
when he says that
he didn’t think it
mattered because
he is a man,
because so many
people have told him
he should’ve liked it.

he does not tell them
his rapists were
six grown men
at one time,
but they wouldn’t
care even if he did.
he is the 1 in 71.
________


we now avoid parties
and pale blue bedsheets.
we never go past certain streets,
even though it adds
a few extra miles onto every trip.
we now avoid pretzel stands
and candy stores.
we never watch romance movies or films, even though almost every movie
has some kind of *** or kissing scene.

we are always aware of where we go,
and who we’re with,
and who knows that we’re going out, and
who knows where we’ll be if we do.

we avoid the things
that we once loved to do.
we avoid the places
that we once loved to go.

we are hyper-vigilant,
and we are cautious,
and we are careful
because we are scared.
we are all scared.

my friend is the 1 in 5.
my other friend is the 1 in 71.
I am the 1 in 5.

almost everyone I know
has a story like this.
this information may be shocking,
but not to us. not anymore.
it can happen anywhere
to anyone at anytime,
but we see it so often that I think
we’ve grown numb to it.

if you talk to a group of teenagers
and you tell them, “I was *****.”
they will not be surprised.
this is every day.
we are afraid every day.

know that this is not
just a collection of statistics.
these are your family.
these are your friends.
these are all people just like you,
with beating hearts
and lives to live,
and we are so much more
than just numbers on a list.
lua Sep 2020
it was like a shock
at first
like lightning strikes
in the silence of midnight
breaking through the calm
like a raging storm
that thrashed and hurt
in white-gold veins
harsh against the clouds
an electric current
that creeps into my blood
and settles in my chest
when i first saw you.
zane Sep 2020
in time,
we're vulnerable.
sitting and waiting
days pass
as we don't sit in class.
everyone around us
Fragile as glass.
Families hurt
Jobs on pause
While the news plays
more pain
everyday.
Lives gone
so fast
At the snap of a finger.
The world froze
as we search for hope.
Charlotte Ahern Sep 2020
as i sat in the decadence

of that New York moment

i knew i was in trouble

for the depth of my love

was darker than the red i sipped
realisation can be a hard pill to swallow at times
Bhill Aug 2020
the silence will shock and the world will rock
when we all can go out and play
the world will be new and a lot less askew
so **** it and stay out all-day

Brian Hill - 2020 # 235
Jenie Aug 2020
Windstorm blowing through
suspending the days
Irish summer ending I shiver
at the darkness spreading
the white wisp morphing into black cloak

The fig tree stands branches wild
new sprouts shaking
second season raspberries
crushed on the wall
the tomato vine falls heavily to the ground

Sprigs jerking I sway
trunk holding fast until it fractures
I collapse and the fruits splatter
sap leaking I wipe my cheeks
flustered by my syrupy hands I stare

a sound a shout I straighten
the burgeons call
Storm Ellen, pandemic and bad news. The burgeons are my children.
Brian Yule Aug 2020
Gazing down
I see this dull blade drew blood
Dial blind as ache lulls
Defy ease as life oozes free
Don’t lie down
Don’t sleep
Keep fear sharp
As faint creeps the soothing deep
Passions eked
Awareness do not forsake me
Come on
Come on
Answer
I stare vague at the mess where my wrist used to be
Which emergency?
Ambulance please
Consciousness bleeds
I wake with cool linen covering me
Show me the workings of a
world rapt in-news
in-fear
in-side.
What are its mechanics?

What are the mechanics:
a single, sterile globe.
All closing doors,
all shouting to be heard -
engulfed in digital vacuum.

Show me the workings.
Give me something I can touch, something I can taste,
something I can grip
between my teeth and bite down.
Hard. Just to check.

To check the mechanics of navigating the blueprint
of a blueprint
of a home with a sky frozen in a window pane.
The mechanics of a curtain closing.
– there was, in the end, nothing to be done –

Show me the workings.
Lay them out in front of me,
tell me their weight.
Let me know the numbers add up.

Let me know the mechanics of how that scale crests and falls,
heaves and gasps
its decision. Its desperation
to deliver the bodies of evidence in
grams, digits, days, weeks.

I want to see the workings.

Show me the workings.
Abby Jun 2020
I can feel it latching onto each
Tiny hair on my face as it falls
Following the trace
Of the tears before it
No sound but heavy breathing and
The muted stream of questions
Inside my head
My eyes wide
Searching for information
Amongst the blurry gaze
James Rives May 2020
a poem never writes itself,
but will guide us.
its sinister intent half-mechanical, as if by formula,
yet imbued with fresh shock
and sound. a word
settles on the bones
and then another--- another.
their emergence rings hollow
before unison and rings
loudly as a whole.
cascading rhythms,
parsed onto pen-pricked page,
gasping for more
and wanting less.
a poem about poetry

this was rushed-- will revisit
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