Friday, June 10, 2016

Rape Culture.

The day she learned to talk, her mother cautioned her to listen.
Moments after her first steps, mama showed her how to run.
Preparing young Sylvie for the inevitable day, 
when she caught the attention of a man who refused to go away.

Sylvie knew all about the monsters under the bed,
she was well-versed on the boogeyman, who filled her with dread.
She could describe the Wolf-man, Dracula, and even Frankenstein,
but her mother warned her the wickedest creature of all was mankind.

She said, “This world was not built for us, we are merely trespassers here.”
Determined to protect her daughter from the same predatory men she feared.
Why do we teach young girls to keep themselves safe,
without teaching little boys not to hurt or maim?

We desire to build our daughters up to believe they can do anything,
to raise them to be confident, and devoid of suffering. 
But what good is it when society just shoots them down,
laughing at them for thinking it were any different now.

The prevalent culture today treats women like objects;
it teaches them to avoid late hours, and even polices how they dress.
When a man finally lapses, and commits insidious rape,
excuses are made in courtrooms, to prevent justice from taking place.

There is no such thing as justice when athletes and celebrities 
are let off with less than a slap on their wrists. 
How are our sisters and daughters to feel valued like this,
when all the evidence proves their cases will only be dismissed. 

It is as though their pain is meaningless,
like a woman’s worth is nothing when compared to her male counterpart’s. 
The system is made up of ripped stockings, scars, and broken hearts. 
How are we expected to compete with the corrupt patriarchs who are in charge?

Imagine the pain of having your innocence stolen from you,
the agony of being penetrated by someone you never knew.
No amount of counseling could erase the tears that come at night,
the sole consequence of being used then tossed aside, and left to die.

Rape is such a malevolent act, it robs victims of their entire lives;
the futures they could have had are tarnished, their dreams all fade to black.
Anxiety rushes to the surface, signaling another oncoming panic attack,
paranoia collaborates with post-traumatic stress creating never-ending flashbacks.

There cannot be change until even privileged rapists are made examples of,
justice will fail to exist until every criminal understands the severity of their actions.
We can pretend equality exists all we want, that will not make it so,
I stand with survivors and I’ll fight for their cause until faith in my fellow man can be restored.



Sunday, May 15, 2016

Gifts.

At the intersection of life,
I crossed my heart and hoped to live.
No stranger to pain or strife,
I accept life is a gift.


At first, grief was like a knife,
sharp enough to create rifts.
Until I saw the light,
I accept life is a gift.

On clear days or dark, stormy nights,
whether in wealth or in thrift,
I will not succumb to fright;
I accept life is a gift.

I will not flee, but I will fight,
so that my consciousness will shift,
ignore my urges to take flight,
I accept life is a gift.



Thursday, May 12, 2016

Panacea.

My lungs fill with water,
I am struggling to breathe,
but instead of fighting,
I hold my breath, then count to three.

Wrestling my demons underwater,
darker down here than above ground.
I hear the great big sea around me,
but still feel the disconnect.

I am no stranger to conflict,
born to battle to prove I deserved a place.
Unfair though for you to ask me,
when I am not the reason why I am here.

Caged in imaginary wire,
tangled in invisible thread.
Cautious even as I kept playing with fire,
burnt to a crisp but barely dead.

Panacea could not cure me,
I am as real as porcelain.
As I float in and out of consciousness,
one treacherous side of me remains living.

Button eyes refused to see reality,
in denial of our failure to survive,
bordering on suicidal,
despite the doctor’s opinion that I am fine.

My body can no longer create moisture,
parched now from a history of crying sheep.
Crystalline and diamond teardrop shapes,
form in my tear ducts instead now then crash into my cheek.

I refused to pledge allegiance,
to this empty vessel I have become.
More numb than anesthetized gums,
laughing gas is not even fun.

It’s so easy for you to leave me,
back here where you once also belonged.
But how much more can I pretend,
it’s you and not me that keeps me here.







Lost & Found.

I need to wake up from my slumber,
this coma has robbed me of progress.
I am drunk and high although I’m sober,
floating through life, like I'm in a bubble.

Ready to move on now,
but my feet refuse to touch the ground.
My teeth shiver betraying my cover,
as my speech is intentional, despite this stutter.

Anxious heart of mine is a flutter,
afraid to finally move on.
And although, I’m ready to go,
I just can’t touch the ground.

More silent than a whisper,
more sacred than all the saints;
the less I have, the less I feel,
until my head remembers it holds a brain.

Running on empty, ambition is my gasoline,
soon it will abandon me, 
and I will need to remember 
the man I was meant to be.

Drowning out of water, 
my lungs fill up with air,
and I let go, count to three and breathe, 
then say a prayer.

"Dear God please let this be,
let my feet finally hit the ground,
Lord, I'm so tired of running,
it hurts so deeply that I can hardly make a sound."

Yesterday has lost its comfort,
the future still fills me with fear,
unless I make peace with my present,
I will just stagnate here.

Caged in a prison 
made of invisible wire,
my own imagination 
is what keeps me locked up.

And so I fight to find the words,
my strength has convinced itself that it is weak;
so I stay staring at shadows,
still too scared to sleep.  

Every corner I encounter,
conceals deeper meanings that I evade,
lessons that I have learned but keep repeating,
call me like voices from beyond the grave.

Forget phantom limbs,
I have a phantom life,
it resonates through the corridors,
the empty halls of my mind.

Silence can be deafening,
when it bounces off buildings and walls,
but all I need is some relief,
and for my feet to touch the ground.

How do I know I haven’t blown my chances,
that my demise has not already arrived?
It can seem so daunting when I play my best hands,
only to continue questioning if I've survived.

Am I in a state of limbo, or is this purgatory?
What have I done to stay trapped inside,
this sanitarium, this senseless factory.
I can feel myself drifting, drifting away from me and you.

Falling too hard and flying,
much too fast to catch myself,
I shoot across the horizon,
then slowly fade from black to blue.

I am a self-fulfilling prophecy of a black hole,
devoured in portions
though none of my parts
can be consoled. 

Aging quicker than 
ever before now,
as the sole of my left foot 
scuffs the soft sandy ground.

Granted another chance 
to make it count,
I will be renewed, instead of wasting time 
just chasing after love.

Slowly I acclimatize until
I am emboldened once again,
this is the part where I jump start my heart,
and hit the ground running. 



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