We scream no
So how do they hear a yes?
Our voice they doth protest,
And how can we be
So hated for just being a human being,
Are we dolls that can be torn apart
Destruction is a sacred art,
And my body is painted red
Can't you see the prints
Where violent hands met skin
Where nos became a yes
Where silence meant consent,
And why does no one care,
When we scream
Do you even hear?
How can you not feel our pain
How can you not see the blood from our veins?
How can you look me in the eyes
And tell me that it was right,
How can you talk about his life
As if he didn't ruin mine,
Why do our lives not matter
When you already have our livers
On a sliver platter,
There's a problem
A sickness that keeps slipping in
But we forget it
It's not a sin,
No instead it's this:
They can't control it,
Born for aggression,
Boys will be boys,
Skin will be skin,
Don't wear that, don't wear this
You were asking for those red prints,
You smiled,
They bought a drink
What do you think that means?
You enjoyed it,
You were dating,
You didn't say no, how was I suppose to know?
You weren't that drunk
But even if you were,
What do you expect
From wearing that skirt,
Well let me tell you,
What I simply hear:
Silence isn't a yes,
Dating isn't consent,
This is our body
Skin isn't a sin,
So before you tell me
A life is ruined
It already was
And he's proof of it.
-
Author:
Merlin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 27th, 2022 02:27
- Comment from author about the poem: Honestly you can consider this a rant poem. I've heard so many things like this about people who have suffered at the hands of people who can't 'control it'. They can. They just don't want to because they've never suffered at the hands of their own consequences. It never fails to anger me, and this poem is proof of that.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 28
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments1
'Destruction is a sacred art,
And my body is painted red'..
in the film, Forrest Gump
there is a heart-breaking scene
that aligns with your poignant, write
its a scene where 'jenny' throws rocks at her old house
and everything is implied in her
savage, crestfallen face
and the embittered tears, streaking
down them
eventually, Forrest says
'... there's just not enough stones'
(
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYrmAF6SQmE
)
and because there won't ever be enough stones
to reverse the morose injustice
of such heinous, crimes
as abuses by the ones we Trust..
I feel
any, achievable victory for survivors
exists in finding a way
to fuel that rage
into something, that can yield
a tangible benefit, in their life
for I have witnessed it first hand
and
if an avenue for that hate, isn't found
then it will consume them
from inside out..
(I laud your bravery, dear Poet
thanks for sharing
stay strong!)
I posted a write on a similar topic
titled
'of Rapeseed Oil indifference'
(
https://mypoeticside.com/show-poem-145928
)
and a Genuine Poet here on MPS
named Rachel Laurene
has written several works on this topic
you may find interesting to read
here's a link to one:
(
https://mypoeticside.com/show-poem-135607
)
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