The water is cold and touches the parts of me that feel foreign
I am still pulling needles out of my hair
Bits of broken green and mud spiral into the drain in quick motions
The more I scrub at my skin, the harder it becomes to erase the damage I can't remember
For a moment I wonder how many inches of water is required to drown
When the moment is over I carefully step out of the shower
My eyes connect with the nurse, she tells me that I can wear these clothes because mine had to be thrown away
Only half an hour ago I reached to pull down my underwear to find nothing
I needed to be inspected
A black hole with a past I didn't know needed to be examined
This felt like the kind of dream where all the images are blurred and control is lost, the character moving forward doesn't resemble the one that fell asleep
I nod and begin to dress myself in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants
My sister comes to pick me up, she is in tears
I try to make a joke
To recall the person before
She doesn't laugh
I am not the same
A gravity weighs down the air, like a wolf fetching for the ****; it bites down on the neck of my spirit and draws blood
It remains there for months
And will come to claim it's full prize in a court room
Full of men defending men
With reasons that vary depending on the sport, the class, the color, the ***,
I was unconscious that night but I am awake to see the picture of you they use in the news
You are smiling
Eyes wide
You are a "good boy", a "future will be destoryed", a "made a mistake" kind of man
I am a "binge drinker", an "attention seeker", a "should of known better" kind of girl
You feel you have won
But I never finished fighting
I will declare a war
Not for you
But for the girl before
For the victims whose voice was once unsure
I hear you
And we will shout together
My take on inside the thoughts of Brock Turner's **** victim (via poetry) based on the letter she wrote to address him in court.
