#Poem on rape

[prolibytherium]

Just in general I think trying to look to pre-late modern period history for validation of LGBT+ identities is an absolutely useless venture. Every single underlying human experience defined through the lens and framework of LGBT identity has always existed, but it's impossible to pin down Exactly who and what a figure might have been if they existed in this contemporary context and decided to self identify via these labels.

It's also a wildly reductive lens that flattens the complexity and variety of how sex and gender has been constructed across time in different cultures, how sexual norms have varied, etc. This is not a constructive approach to learn about history and you're never going to be able to fit historical figures neatly into little identity categories.

[librarycards]

I stare death and the face and see only me.

Battered, at scale, bruised in the places I hit myself. Or, perhaps, this was someone else’s doing,

the way this story is someone else’s story.

How this sentence belongs to someone who is as of this reading not me, because it is you.

[vinesinmyheart]

Coercion

Expectation.

The weight of being wanted,

Without wanting.

Knowing you’ll give,

Either way.

All day the weight builds,

It’s your body,

Or a fight.

Picking up kids,

Getting groceries,

Making dinner,

Knowing every minute,

It’s your body,

Or a fight.

Now the weight is crushing,

Your choices,

Have become his property.

The chores are done,

You’re masking,

A relaxed demeanor,

In your own home.

Deep inside,

There’s a storm,

Your back against the wall,

Will it be,

Your body

Or

A fight?

You quickly wipe away a few rogue tears,

They always spring up when it’s over.

He never asks why.

I’m sure you both know.

- E.M

[milkyspine]

— gynecologist, room 202

[letsbeapoemtogether]

Now, should we treat women as independent agents, responsible for themselves? Of course. But being responsible has nothing to do with being raped. Women don’t get raped because they were walking alone on the street at night. Women do not get raped because they weren’t careful enough. Women get raped because someone raped them.

[rollerska8er]

they want to hurt our children

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists, while doctors in the United Kingdom turn a blind eye to the suffering and misery of children who just want to be girls, or boys, and are in so much pain because of that, but have now had their entire lives turned into political ammunition by adults who want them quietly legislated to death.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists, while bombing raids and armed men and women in the Gaza Strip kill over 11,000 children and counting, because these adults do not see them as fully human, just obstacles in the way of their righteous vengeance.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists, while a ten-year-old girl learns that she is pregnant and it is her stepfather's, and that the good churchgoing men in her government believe that terminating this pregnancy would be a far worse crime than the crime of raping a child, so she has the choice of fleeing everything she knows, or bringing a child she has neither the means nor ability to raise to term, while still a child herself.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists, while children regularly go through drills where they cower under desks in anticipation of the day that may one day come where they will be forced to text loved ones telling them they love them as shots ring out in the halls.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists, after a policeman shoots a twelve-year-old boy with a service weapon for carrying a toy gun, and never sees the inside of a prison cell, because of course, he was just trying to protect himself from a potential threat.

"they want to hurt our children," say the fascists.

[towriteabutch]

LUCRETIA & ODE TO LUCRETIA, sister poems. 5/28/23

[p4nishers]

can we actually take a moment and remember swan upon leda? can we actually shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down and think about our lord and savior swan upon leda because i'm tired of doing it alone every single day guys

[thursday-rose]

Painful Desire

TW

This poem is about the desire to be ASSAULTED in order to feel loved.

Rape TW

SA TW

In the corners of my mind and soul,

I yearn for something less than whole.

A violent passion, a force untamed,

To make me feel loved, to give me a name.

I crave the pain, the hurt, the bruise,

The evidence, your burning fuse.

A fire in the depths of my core,

Consuming me, asking for more.

This is love, I believe it each night,

I promise you I won't put up a fight.

Let me feel your breath hot in my ear,

Whispering words of lust and fear.

And as you leave me, bruised and battered,

know that I'll want more, yet shattered,

For in this pain, in this violent act,

I find true desire, that's raw, that's fact.

Show me what it means to be possessed,

To be wanted, to be loved, to be used, consumed by an insatiable muse.

Let me feel love that's real, that hurts, but makes me feel new.

Let me feel your love, I plead and pray,

Let me feel your desire, come what may,

Let me feel wanted, let me feel loved,

Even if it means I'm hurt and misused.

Even if it means I'm worthless and abused.

Written by Thursday Rosemary

[to-hypnos-we-dream]

tw sa/violence/rape

There was so much screaming, the slow thrashing and punching in an unrecognizable realm

an old memory, a violent rape, the warping of faces I can't remember

healing can be agony

the rip of wounds

the sharp needle used to stitch

there is pure darkness in this bed tonight, silent terror, silent struggle

snapped awake

my heart racing, my body drenched in sweat

phantom pain

I turn to Hypnos, Lord of Sleep, I beg of Him

Why have you showed me this? Why have you made me endure this?

My mortal hurt, a mortal sense of betrayal

one arm under mine, one arm around me, wings surrounded

Hypnos kisses my tears, warms the ache of my heart

the urge to vomit in my throat

the devotion, the hurt

"You've ignored these wounds for so long, they still bleed My love"

I cannot look at Him

hand on my cheek

"You won't face this alone."

I wept into His breast

Every dream has a purpose, even the ones that make you question your devotion to Him

He is the Healer

He is the Nightmares

He is the Healer

He is the Terror

He is the Healer

He is with you always, may He guide us into the storm we shy from

Beloved Hypnos God we devote ourselves to, Guide us and shall we face what we fear

[shatteredelegy]

Raw Nerves, Blunt Edges

Why do we say "unalived" when it’s suicide, Or twist "rape" into "grape," like we’re scared of the truth? Are we that afraid to confront the horror, That we smother it in euphemisms, Wrapping it in soft lies to avoid the bite?

Frat boy Chad didn’t "grape" Amber, He fucking raped her, Because his sick, twisted ego told him That if he got her drunk enough, Her no would dissolve into silence. He’d walk away, shrugging off the guilt, Blaming her for the drink she didn’t even want, Like it was her fault his hands were on her.

Maddison didn’t just "unalive" herself, She fucking killed herself, Not for your attention, But because when she screamed for help, You called it whining, Dismissed her pain as pathetic. Now she’s a cold body, hanging in the dark, And you’re left wondering why she didn’t scream louder.

We’re so fucking out of touch, Dumbing down the truth to avoid the sting, But maybe we need to feel that sharp edge, Because these horrors are constant, And the truth, no matter how raw, Should be screamed, not whispered, Should burn, not comfort.

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is definitely a chocolate chobbling consumer, constantly and abley aided and abetted by his audience. 'Dig a little deeper, when the answer's hard to find' sings The Butterfly Graveyard. Not the man on the radio's usual fare, more Ibiza than Emerald Isle. The chef on the radio is imminent. Pesto stuffed chicken breast and tiramisu are today's mouth waterers.

The garish yellow from next door's fields has eased it's way into the garden. Scarily coloured en masse, slightly less offensive in close up. Perhaps this usurper is in some way responsible for the behemoth bee that entered the kitchen yesterday afternoon. Poisonous pesticides mean mobile hives are being used. Oh the irony of farmers fighting for their right to continue with carcinogens. I wonder how the local bees feel about these nomadic pollinators.

A few years ago I found the largest and bluest of bees ... briefly in my hand before being placed among flowers ... a beauty to behold.

"And pray, who are you?" ... Said the violet blue ... To the bee, with surprise ... At his wonderful size, In her eye-glass of dew.

"I, Madam", quoth he, ... "Am a publican bee, ... Collecting the tax ... On honey and wax. ... Have you nothing for me?"

John B Tabb

[auguststormstories]

*did I pray when he tied me to the bed and beat me for a long time all I remember was the basketball game was on and he kept taking a break to watch but I was bleeding and writhing in pain so you know he wanted me to apologize to his master’s wife because he was convinced that I was just a liar turned out I was fucking boys because I didn’t know better but it was less about the facts and more about that he hated the fuck out of me and felt sorry for me at the same time I have recovered little of memory of that hurtful day I am always afraid of being screamed at*

“The Road Taken”

8-9-24

[thenuclearmallard]

"Lust Torn Asunder"

Skeletal presence

With ominous essence

Black and white illuminates

Of a soul that once ruminates

A life severed strand by strand

Of the depravity omitted from the hand

Viley torn to the point of obscuring

Is there ever any way of curing

The disembodiment

Of the omnipotent

A crime so depraved

Lustly forced with hatred so unwaved

Call me home

I no longer want to roam

In this blistering decreptiness of the unknown

[angel-on-the-cutting-room-floor]

[priyaakira]

GRAPE

Rip my thights and ruin my makeup.

Dirty me. Demolish me. Abuse me.

Kiss me hard, and make me sad.

Undo me. Open me. Ravage me.

Take off my skirt, and what lies under,

Take a puff, thus leave me to wonder.

Take off my shirt, leave my chest so bare,

So easy, so clear, no love to share.

Pull my hair, strangle me, choke me

Take my vision, theres nothing to see.

Take my ears, my hearing so sweet,

Thus i shall have no abilty to fleet.

And when youre done, grab all your things

But make sure to never stop and stare.

The work youve done, her broken wings,

of the angel fallen, bloody-bare

~xox♡ PriyaAkira