TW: sexual abuse.
he did this, I know, a penetration… No
insertion, but some kind of, tongue and lips
and oh God, so vile, did I want it, did I ask
did my hips betray my mind, did the drink
ing earn the crime, did young blushing
cheeks belie a want, perversion, deserve
the panties down, around the ankles, a
betrayal ground. Is it rape if no one hears
you, is it rape if he didn’t kill you. Is it rap
e, unprosecuted, is it legitimate pain if he
did not impregnate you. Is this real if I w
rite about it, if no-one reads it, or tweets
about it. Am I a victim or a liar. Am I a g
irl who asked for it. Am I a woman bur
ning in pain — a slave, forever fuckin-slut-sham
ed? or am I on fire ———-
Written by Elisabeth Horan.
Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain – especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. She has work up at Moonchild Magazine, TERSE. Journal, Blanket Sea, Former Cactus, Burning House and Milk & Beans. Her chapbook “Pensacola Girls”, written in collaboration with Ms. Kristin Garth, is forthcoming at Bone & Ink Press. Follow her @ehoranpoet & Tumblr.