I once read a poem, personifying meth
The highs, the lows, the desperation, the death
Yes, inspiring, but we know the drug is hate
Yet this topic contentious, why so? It’s rape.
There was rum and vodka and who knows what then?
A group of friendly teens, welcoming in 2010
Roaming the streets, the vibe merry and manic
Every part of me wishes I’d stayed home watching Titanic
I remember your face, there was sand, I heard the sea
My head hit the beach… and then you got on top of me.
Stories like this, they say, ‘we felt ripped in two’
Just wondering, how did it feel for you?
Next morning, I half-smiled at the stares, pretending not to care.
In the shower just after, I was drowning in fear
My appetite gone, two months I barely ate
Until a girl at my school, she mentioned a loss of weight
I thought, okay it’s time, come on, pull yourself up
This is surely common, just get out of the rut.
So up it was, to meet constant torment and reminder
I yearned for people to understand, for people to be kinder
Do you lose sleep over seeing my unconscious sight?
Does it strike you as wrong, what you did that night?
I just want to know if you have any idea
The impact this has had, like do you even care?
Six years on, not a day goes by I don’t think of that night
Not always wounding or negative, but this cannot be right
Alone in my head, you’re every reason behind my deepest fears
The flashes of memory, every foundation beneath so. Many. Tears.
The day after you said, ‘You’re a real cool chick to lose it to’
Honestly mate… like really? Fuck. You.
The impact you had, it will never be known,
My peace of mind, for six years, thrown.
So many ‘if onlys’, all a waste of time,
Unfortunately, yet to find a clock to rewind.
The funny thing is, I’m not even mad.
The feeling is deep, unshakeable and downright sad.
My virginity you took; I came to terms with that fine
It’s what you did to a body that happened to be mine
Immobile, intoxicated, no ability to resist
It’s sickening to think, you made be wish I didn’t exist.
You and your friends, you’d laugh if you read this.
‘Come on gal, just a night out on the piss’
The thing is, it’s a worry, it doesn’t seem to register
You committed a crime that night, the label – sexual predator
6 months on I rang a rape hotline, only to get as far as the pre-recorded tape
3 years later, I told a counsellor my story and she assured me, it was rape
After each attempt to move on, I felt over-dramatic and weak
I should have felt so strong and empowered to speak.
Now am I hearing you’ve done it to other girls too?
Do you need help? Do you have something to prove?
Would reporting you cut your appetite? Would it throw you in a drain?
Would it ruin your life for years? Would it take over your brain?