Part 3 of 4
Content note: incest, sexual assault, physical abuse, self-harm
To be clear, my rage refuses to be pretty. It will not be sanitized into a palatable, socially acceptable form of anger—that is not too loud, not too explicit, not too real. There is a pressure to be “reasonable”, especially for women who are often not afforded the same leeway to express their rage. I claim my right to express my rage in its rawness and unrefined truth.
The Weight (12/8/24)
The weight of truth
pushing down on my body,
slowly flattening muscle,
breaking bones
until I am dust.
This heaviness begs for release
as impending structural failure
threatens to punish me
with annihilation.
Making me disappear
like the tears quickly hidden
as my dad yells
and the cracks in the walls
start to take shape.
Rickety support beams are placed,
creaking under the pressure,
occasional bits of drywall
falling into my eyes
as I stare at the ceiling,
pretending I’m somewhere,
anywhere else that isn’t here
with him, my brother, on top of me.
His anger shaking loose
more dry powder,
which makes me cough,
or it would,
if I were even in my body anymore.
Each time he pushes
I melt more deeply
into the background.
The weight can’t hurt me
if I can’t feel anything.
These sinews stretched and torn,
my nerves blessedly deadened.
This heaviness in my body,
in my home,
creaky stairs into a haunted basement.
The darkness so deep
but also, maybe if I can’t see,
I’ll be okay after all.
My Blood Runs Free
a raw light storm swims
behind my mad screaming
and I am crushed
by the thought of your lust
bitter chants flood my dreams
as they smear their blood
on my bare skin ripped through
in a delirious moment
in my half-dream state
you terrorize me again
as I listen to the tearing
and watch my blood run free
as I am trapped underneath you,
feeling your hands all over my body,
this pain, real and not real at the same time,
I let my blood run free
the red river screams for me
for my violation
for my fear
for my revenge.
my blood runs free.
The Last Time You Touched Me (7/20/01)
black and blue kisses
on my chin
shining in their radiance
true love’s last gift
a priceless bracelet
with my name engraved
and my insurance number
plastic pulled too tight
how long were you together
shaking head mystified
or full of pity
as I describe again
the last time that you touched me
inundated with questions
but most importantly
did you report him –
are you pressing charges?
stench of hospital
and the overwhelming
odor of sympathy and anger
flood over into my sleepless night.
Leave a Reply