Poetry

Published on March 23rd, 2017 | by Anonymous

0

A Survivor’s Vignettes

I was 17.
Consent wasn’t there.
I was drunk.
It was at a party.
I laid down.
I closed my eyes.
This sounds like an after school special.
But it was all too real.
It was how I lost my virginity.
I never got to say yes.
I was never asked.
I woke up with a man inside of me.
He was 27.
I was frozen with fear.
I never told anyone what happened there.

I was 19.
At a Halloween party.
I dressed like an angel.
Trying to reclaim lost purity.
I didn’t dress sexy.
I had a shapeless white robe on.
It dragged on the floor.
I wore a pair of wings.
My face was as bare as the day I was born.
And in the bathroom upstairs.
Consent wasn’t there.
He pushed his way in.
Threw me into the bathtub.
He put his hand up my robe.
Put his hand down my robe.
Put his lips on my neck.
Put my hand on his prick.
He had a gun in his pocket.
He threatened to use it.
I pushed him and ran downstairs.
His friends had left him alone.
He fled.
He was never seen by me again.

I was 23.
I was in a bar.
I wasn’t alone – I was with the band.
Not just a fan, but a friend.
My drink came while I was in the bathroom.
I took a sip.
And then I forget.
I have a piece here.
A scar there, under my eye.
Two chipped front teeth.
I think he tried to get me to leave with him.
But I hid in the bathroom.
And passed out.
Hitting the sink on the way down.
Leaving a puddle of blood on the ground.
What did he put in my drink?
The he that has no face or name.
But created a blank spot just the same.
There’s one thing that’s not unclear:
Consent wasn’t there.


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