#victimblaming
you'll never know how it feels
to be a potato being fried
being mixed with salt or cheese powder
as people eat and digest you in their stomach
you'll never know how it feels
to be a teddy bear being hugged
or punched at because of its softness
since it has no life so you just kept doing it
you'll never know how it feels
to be the fat kid in your class
because you were popular
and everyone admired the pretty ones
you'll never know how it feels
to be gay as people tear you apart
because you're a disgrace
and the bible told you you're invalid
you'll never know how it feels
to be black because your skin is clear
and they never tried to **** you
because of your race and skin color
you'll never know how it feels
to be vincent van gogh as he tried
to poison himself by eating yellow paint
and drinking turpentine
you'll never know how it feels
to be a **** victim
whether you're a man or a woman
because you kept thrusting and it hurt
you'll never know how it feels
to be in heaven or hell
because you're dead
and you're starting somewhere ahead
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
I grew up in the shadow of my mother’s cries,
a symphony of pain echoing through thin walls.
My father’s rage was a storm I could not calm,
locked away in my room, a prisoner of helplessness.
I trained my ears to listen for the silence,
for the absence of that horrible sound meant safety.
In the sweltering heat of summer,
I turned off the fan, closed the window,
sacrificing comfort to keep my vigil.
The stillness was my shield,
my ears scanning, always scanning,
for the sound that shattered peace.
I wondered, if my mother had been different,
empowered, independent, unyielding,
would she have escaped the blows?
Would I have been spared the scars of witnessing?
But no, her submissiveness was not the crime.
The fault lay in the hands that struck,
in the heart that chose cruelty over love.
And yet, I confess, I dream of a submissive wife.
Not to dominate, not to harm,
but to prove, to myself and to the world,
that gentleness deserves tenderness,
that softness is not a weakness to exploit.
I will love her properly, care for her deeply,
respect her fully, treasure her words like a melody,
and hold her thoughts as close as my heartbeat.
I will be kind without condition.
For if I do not, it would be as if I blamed my mother
for the sins of my father.
And that, I cannot bear.
Yes, I celebrate the empowered, the independent,
the women who rise, unbroken, against the tide.
But let us not forget:
a submissive woman is not a flawed woman.
She, too, deserves love, care, and kindness.
She, too, deserves to be safe,
to have her voice respected,
her opinions valued,
and her dignity upheld.
For the fault of abuse lies not in the victim,
but in the hands that wield it.
And in my hands, I vow to hold only gentleness,
to break the cycle,
to honor my mother’s tears
by creating a world where no one has to cry.
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 7:26 AM UTC
****
are you uncomfortable?
tell me
do you feel sick?
****
i will say it
over and over again
each time louder
and more angry than the last
****
repeating, repeating, repeating
until you decide to
take action
and stop blaming the victim
****
does it scare you?
do something about it
scream about how enraged
you are that this is even an issue
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 5:20 PM UTC
I am scared.
Not just for myself but for all the girls out there.
For all those girls who walk home alone really late.
For all those girls whose bosses after work hours ask them to wait.
For all the young girls who don't even know much about anything yet.
For all the women whose husbands or fathers get real drunk after sun set.
Why you ask me?
Because of all the disgusting stories I've heard and the terrible things I've seen.
Because men get away with almost anything.
Even if they've ruined a girl's everything.
Because y'all don't want to teach boys to treat women with respect.
You don't want to teach them to back off when she rejects.
You just want to go on about how she should have dressed more appropriately.
But even then would he have treated her differently?
I don't think so.
Because we encouraged this when we failed our girls a long time ago.
When we didn't give justice to all those countless women.
When we let the guilty men walk away as if they had done nothin'.
When we blamed the victim.
When we didn't even let her speak and only listened to him.
We failed when she stopped reporting even, because she didn't want to make it worse for herself.
We failed when we drove her so mad, so devoid of hope that she ended it then and there.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 2:49 AM UTC
A war began a year ago,
A war we could avoid.
And now there is no place to go,
No future, only void.
A girl was killed the day before,
And now her coffin's made.
And speeches devil would abhor
Began to charge the maid.
'She is the only one to blame,
That's ****** place to hide!
She had no armor? What a shame!
That's no surprise she died!'
So, what it takes to place no guilt
On little maiden's head?
Is it to hold a wooden hilt
Of sword that stroke her dead?
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC