#rapeculture
Your eyes fall so naturally over the body of every girl that walks by,
And they avoid me like I am diseased meat.
Men are wolves and when tamed, they're dogs.
But dogs still eat meat,
And she is quiet the piece.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC
I think back to when it happened,
to that beautiful day that suddenly became so dark
The day when it all happened,
the day he destroyed who I was
Leaving me shattered.
I fought. I cried.
But it didn't matter how loud I was.
Nobody came to help me.
I still wake up crying,
Freeze when I see him,
And I’m still scared,
every **** day.
I still think I see him,
even while I'm safe at home.
I close my eyes and tell myself it’s going to be ok
But I can't help but feel him.
A year later I still feel him.
His grip on my wrists, the smell of alcohol on his breath,
The weight of his body pressed against me as I tried to get away
He just continued,as I cried.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed,
Nobody came to help me.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 2:12 PM UTC
I wonder
How the girl
In the stall to my left
Weeps into a bundle
Of toilet paper
For she simply got under an A
On a test.
Whilst the girls
In the stall to my right
Speak casually
About their experiences
Of being *****
More than once.
And by the same man.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
Five women transcend
the stag cinema of hoary
yore Shauna Grant, the first
glamorous **** bucket,
paved the way for Dorothy
Stratten, the first Playmate
superstar: Anastasia Blue's
Russian underground cult
of Gonzo; Julie Robbins
thriving fan base; Candy
Barr, mother to them et al,
first **** star & premier
stripper. Amber Rayne who
crossed over to mainstream
always the dream, following
legends in the field such as
Marilyn Chambers & Traci
Lords. If there were pageants
in hell, the one who would
take the crown would be Linda
Lovelace, whose effect upon
the culture is felt to this day.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 8:37 PM UTC
It is a murky unsympathetic night; the air is dense but so brittle. The city’s lights are glaring while the buildings are pellucid. The clubs are radiating with pandemonium most can’t seem to ignore. It’s a Friday night, a chaotic age restricted night. Both predators and prey invade the avenue. Walking through is Jane Doe. Tall slim and slightly inebriated. Attached to her skin are stitched together materials snug, satisfying but fleeting. As she prowls, the materials bind and elevate revealing her dermis. Beyond the noise, she hears phrases towards her, rotating her abdomen as she becomes livid but intimidated. Jane accelerates but the stilettos restrict. As she walks faster so does the brute, until finally their paths collide. Jane meets his cold malicious iris. Before altering directions, his callous filled hands swiftly but suddenly snatched her confidence and depth. Her figure jolts as he infiltrates her physique. Others observed nonchalantly and attentively whispering “she has received the appropriate consequences” based on the apparel draped over her figure.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
By now it has often been said that so-called ***********
or chronic rampant ****** activity in females [sometimes real
& mostly imagined] is a male Chauvinist fiction created by
men to control women's natural vibrant sexuality; w/ the
creation of the Pill & legal, safe abortions women were able to
somewhat unleash that Id through most of the 20th C.; Due to
the litigious, soul-crushing, career & legacy destroying nature
of ****** harassment, both male & female Id are kept under
lock & key in a culture where boys get guns & girls get ***** ::
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
It's difficult to be pretty in this world
Because when you're pretty
You get *****
Because men don't know how to control themselves
Because when you're a man
You don't have to
Men are commended
For impregnating women
And being masculine rapists
Women are shamed
For getting pregnant
And being *****
Women were asking for it
Women should have known better
Women are supposed to be prepared
Nobody tells men not to ****
We hope it's common sense
But then we don't reprimand them
Because boys will be boys
But why can't boys be nice boys
And keep their hands to themselves
Stop hurting young women
Who really don't want to be *****
I don't know why
Men keep ****** women
It isn't fun
Nobody is asking for it
The definition of ****
Is *** that isn't asked for
But guys do it anyway
Because women are too afraid
To speak up
To live in this world
Ruled by ****** men
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
A girl lies naked, bruised and bleeding on the bathroom floor. She’ll say she was ***** but it’ll be her who’ll take the fall. The football team will still play that Friday night and she’ll be accused of telling hysterical lies.
“She was breaking the dress code” you were breaking the law, violation of the law gets you a court sentence but rich parents get you good lawyers who get you off free, she’ll never be free to walk the streets home alone fearing that every time she looks into a man’s eyes she will see the image of you as she prayed for help but was instead preyed on by the Prom King Predator.
Her bruises whether they be physical or not are hers to reveal and if you feel the need to go around telling her story then you’re an *** “she had a sweet *** you had sweet talk which made her feel safe and then suddenly she felt betrayed. So she’s a ***** if she sleeps with a guy even if it wasn’t consensual but when you sleep with a girl you’re a playa and did a good job on hitting that; you going to bang her? ***** her? Nail her?
The words used to describe it are almost as violent as the act done upon her.
There was pain in her voice but her body betrayed her, it portrayed pleasure when all she felt was agony. The pain in her voice was clear to those around her but the pleasure was all they focused on, the pleasure is what caused her the feeling of being ashamed for the next four years until she could open up to someone.
Around school she was known as the quiet girl, the girl without a story, this was true in a sense because her story like most was never told.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical **** he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.
Jokes on him.
I'm gay.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was ***** would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
When I have to walk home at night in the dark
With my eyes sharp and
My keys jammed between our fingers in the fist of one hand
Don’t you dare tell me
That the fear is my eyes isn’t justified
When I have to worry
Is my dress too short?
Do I look like a ****
Is this outfit too provocative?
Don’t you dare tell me
That the fear is my eyes isn’t justified
Did you see what she was wearing
She was drunk, she probably just regrets it
She was dressed like a **** She was asking for it
Why else would she wear a dress that short
Don’t you dare tell me
That the fear is my eyes isn’t justified
I refuse to be quite
I refuse to accept that
“Boys will be boys”
And
“It’s just the way things are”
**** that.
I have a right to be safe
I have a right to wear what I please
No means no
No will always mean no
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
My body, should be my temple
But why does it belong to someone else?
It belongs to the man who stared too long
It belongs to the man hitting on me in front of his wife
It belongs to the man who put his hand on my *** even though he couldn’t be bothered with knowing my name
It belongs to the man who kept asking after I just said no
My body isn’t my body
It belongs to men I barely know
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
If you take me
if you're so destined to tear into my flesh
to consume what innocence I have left--
take me with an iron fist
take everything I have
everything you want and more
with blunt force
leave me shredded,
shattered
leave me bruised
with permanent scars
beat me until I'm ******
until I'm black and blue
until my bones are crippled
and my skin is sore to the touch
And everyone can see your marks
all over my body
until you have ripped my insides out like a trophy
until you have destroyed every bit of beauty my body once held--
do this all,
I beg you
so I can show the world what kind of monster you are
take me-- take all of me,
I'm asking for it
I'm asking you, to prove yourself, guilty.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
debating whether i am allowed
to go out of the house at 8pm
or not
“because i might get *****
debating whether i am allowed
to wear that skirt that goes little above my knees
or not
“because i might get *****
debating whether i am allowed
to meet up with a guy
or not
“because i might get *****
debating whether i am allowed
to stay at my friends house when they have older brothers
or not
“because i might get *****
debating whether i am allowed
to go on a school trip
or not
“because i might get *****
Do you see this?
Do you see the reason they give for a woman to not do certain things?
****
How can we live in this world
peacefully
when we have to fear for our lives
almost every moment
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
when your hands roam
my body unwillingly
the first thing the police ask is
“so what were you wearing?”
as if that explains why
someone grabbed me
and dug their fingers into my skin.
as if a woman doesn’t have a right
to wear crop tops and tight jeans
that hug our bodies
my body is no one's prize
but a home where I should
be able to feel comfortable in,
not a home
I grow to hate
yet it seems as if the
world wants me to.
only when it happens do
people say it isn’t okay.
yet there was nothing done
about it.
everyone looks at you
in pity, as you try not to cry,
he said you gave consent,
that's a lie.
as women, we have a voice,
but our society teaches us not to use it.
no one is to blame but ourselves
we are taught to keep quiet, to look
and act as if nothing is wrong.
when there is a whole war going
on inside of us.
do you want to make me feel better?
don’t ask me what I was wearing.
take the man who scarred me,
give me and all the other girls
he assaulted, tainted. justice.
we sure do deserve it.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
summertime has never been my favorite.
the sun is too bright.
the days are too long.
public pools are *****
and so are those men,
you know the ones.
the ones who you can't help but catch their eye.
the ones your fifteen year old mind had been conditioned to ignore.
the ones your twenty year old self has been told to smile for.
the strangers.
the fathers.
the uncles.
the family friends.
the men that made your mother tell you to close your legs for when you were ten because you were drawing attention.
the ones who shouldn't have been looking.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
She steps into the room,
Timidity and grace;
Innocence and caution synchronized.
She feels you watching her
And quickly turns away-
But it's too late,
She's been defiled by your eyes.
She's just another pretty girl
On whom to feast your eyes-
Another helpless victim to your gaze.
It doesn't matter what she wears,
It doesn't matter what she hides-
The second you set eyes on her,
She becomes your latest prey.
A slave to your senses,
You mother ******* perv!
I hate you and all your twisted ways.
A ******* of duplicity-
A ravenous, worthless curr-
Twisted in your soul
And ****** up in your brain!
'Cause you've got X-ray vision,
And you **** her with your mind;
Defile her with your very gaze.
You strip her down and play with her,
Debauched within your mind;
Violated, objectified, debased.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
I should not feel ashamed
of what I wear
in public.
I should not fear
wandering eyes
and side ways expressions –
looking me up and down
like I am an object
to be toyed with.
I should not have to
avoid unwanted glances
from those who think
they are superior
and feel they have a right
to what I show of myself.
no one has a right to me.
no one has a say in what I wear
or how I think
or how I choose to portray myself.
I am a sixteen year old girl.
a sixteen year old girl who
should never be petrified
of wearing shorts in
ninety degree weather.
a sixteen year old girl
who shouldn’t be harassed
for the said objectification
of her own body.
a girl who shouldn’t be told
that she was asking for it
and it was her fault
for revealing her own skin.
but their eyes still wander.
they wander across my body
like an animal hunting for prey
and it doesn’t matter if I’m covered
or hiding in the best way I possibly can.
to them, I am still weak. easy.
and they know that they will
forever have the upper hand.
and if I try to use my voice
it will only be beaten by the fact that
I was asking for it,
and I am the one who chose
to portray myself in such a way
to tempt those around me.
and whatever occurred after was,
and always will be,
my fault.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?
With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.
With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.
With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.
Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?
Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.
I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.
Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?
To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?
Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
“Was it the backless back of a black dress that did it?”
They’ll ask, loudly
even though the wolves that roam these streets
are merely feigning sleep
and are starving
“Yes!”
They will agree
as drool slips from the hinge of a wolfish grin
from the forked tongue
of an angel
“What else could she expect?”
Of course
they must abide by the code of the pack(of course)
which is of course
the root of disrespect
“How obscene! How uncouth!”
(how to measure human flesh)
as if they could hold up her “no(s)” to his “yes”
which is bigger and louder
and stronger
“Yes! … Yes! … Yes!”
As if to them
to the wolves, to the men, to the uncondemned
what happened, really
was for the best.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Arrival
Upon my arrival, I whisper-walked
Erasing my steps like a broom
I avoided bottlenecks and having my back to the door
Soft voices and sweet
Made me cringe
So did people who had no smell.
What was I, they wanted to know,
Such a delicate and precariously balanced thing,
Doing at the Crossroads?
Even the smallest and most inconsequential among us,
Could knock you apart
with a soft, experimental tap.
I’m sure that when they were children
They broke all their toys.
And I’m a living doll.
Perhaps I should, but I don’t want
To creak open the hinges of their faces.
There are things worse than skulls and brains.
Such as humorless laughter.
Indifference. Intentions.
And voids.
What you must realize,
What you need to comprehend.
Is that.
At times like this,
A girl would give anything
To be ugly.
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
In society,
Women are always told they are too much.
Too angry, too calm
Too quiet, too loud
Too big, too small
And we are all of these things
We are angry.
Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be.
And we are too calm.
Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry
Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's
You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm.
We are too quiet.
We are silenced.
Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet.
And we are loud.
We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be.
We are small.
Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger.
Because we are big.
We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
You don't know what it's like
To be violated
To be held against your will
And felt up
And leave bruises
By someone you trusted
By someone you thought cared about you
You don't know what it's like to be used just for your body
By someone you thought cared for more than just nudes
By someone who told you were cute and pretty
You don't know what it's like to tell the person who violated you
What they did to you
And how it made you feel
You don't know what it's like to receive a fake apology
One only to get you to shut up
But as you're telling him your point of view
And as he's pretending to apologize
You could just feel all the "I don't cares" and "will you shut up nows"
You don't know what its like to attempt to leave an uncomfortable situation
Only to be pulled back by the handle on your backpack
Unaware of what is going on
You thought you were leaving
You don't know what it's like to be held up against the body
Of a strong, tall male
Unable to push him away
Unable to squirm out of the situation
You don't know what it's like to be barely able to breathe
Because your face is pressed right up against his side
But of course you knew he was strong
He played hockey and baseball
But you didn't know he was that strong
You don't know what it's like to be violated by someone you thought you could trust, or thought they could protect you.
Let's not mention how you don't know what it's like
To be sitting in class, sharing your homework with another boy
Only to feel his hand on your leg
You don't know what it's like to sit in a room full of students
And have no one notice what is happening
And you've shot a look that says don't do it
Yet he takes that as a look to continue to go up further
Because he thought it would increase tension
But really he made your self-worth decrease
You don't know what it's like to have an unwanted hand go up your skirt
And you thought it was okay to wear a skirt that day
Just like you wore one every other day
Because the Kilt was part of your school uniform
But of course that made your visible legs vulnerable
And it's a good thing that someone else call for his attention
Because you wanted anything but his
And you don't know what it's like to make a scene
Or to tell someone
Because you're not sure if you parents will be more upset
About you talking to boys or that your got yourself into those situations
You don't know what it's like to stay silent
Because you don't want to make matters worse
But it's my body, why would someone think they have access to it?
Because you don't know what it's like to be sexually assaulted
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Hands clasp perfectly together
A grip can’t be broken
Flawless face drenched in auburn silk
Cold eyes engulfed by charcoal-dipped cotton, searing a gaze into memories
Skin softer than water
Each touch painting off-toned purples and greens
Lips quiver in excitement
Jaw clenched tighter with each painful glare
One walks free
One forever marked
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC