How intent you were as you typed my complaint
Every few minutes you had to stop and wait
To contemplate
Whose crime was it
His or mine
What was I wearing
or not wearing
At the time
To describe my state of mind
Why didn't I fight, run or scream
You put me under scrutiny
Consensual or not
In a parking lot!!
The pain of blame
Over shame
But, today the survivors
And the rest of the world
Should take one step
Outside the dark shadows
Of all boys and girls
And the disgraceful boundaries
We are caged in
Like our **** is our sin
And make it that
Once a year
For one part of that one day
People all over
Shall face what we face
The painful existence
Of a survivors days
Before those last three words
They always say......"Are you sure?"

Few candles
left for all of this

now comfort comes
in well thumbed books
and blankets..

A twist
of snowdrift hair
that tags you late
for thankless life,

released

a look-back
over years that taught

retreat


From
the cabin
of your fevered eye,
a love that passed you by
still shines,
impossible
in distant vistas

always
out of reach...

I walked into a room where nobody knew my face.
Slowly some approached "Are you so and so?" "Yes." I said.
"You don't look like yourself." No, I think. Clothes do not make the man. The words do. You know my words.