“Warning ABuse” Poetry Submission


The art of learning abuse

is a silent journey

it starts young

and for young girls

it begins when men begin

to lick their lips

as we hurriedly try to learn

our new bodies

and later when we

learn to teach half the world’s

population that our bodies

are not their beds

But that’s just it.

You see, I had only the

warned abuse of myself .

And I had not yet learned

the consequences of my womanhood

Because I still believed

that how much or how little

clothing I wore told nothing

about how free I was.

Warning abuse

is to instinctively silence

the voice in your gut that howls “no”.

That’s learning womanhood.

So I guess you could say I’m naive

and maybe deserved what

was to come.

sometimes thats what I believe too.

rape.

it was my fault.

And yet I dont quite believe

that it is a sin, and I am to

blame for having a hole the

size of his manhood in my chest.

that same chest that held all of my anger, tears and screams

conveniently practices to remain

tucked away.

That’s learned abuse.

To silence yourself-and believe

you are no longer powerful.

So ya, I dont talk about

it much.

Because I do still choke on

cherry pits-

and the way even her hands

on my hips lifts every hair

on my neck.

I dont want to talk about it

to validate your need for

closure.

maybe its also because the

story will make you see

me differently.

And because not all of you Allies

learned tat reaction doesnt

change anything.

It won’t mean men suddenly

love and respect me

I dont need to go hunting for closure.

I dont need explanations or to wast time looking for an

answer.

“why”

because there isn’t one.

But oh by god have I learned.

That I am not the broken one.

For it takes a broken person

to come searching for

meaning between my legs.

and it takes a complete, whole, bad-ass motherfucker to survive it.

So when I tell you this story

I want you to hear them as the

things I’ve survived.

Rather than these broken pieces

you might believe I have inside.

My mess is my own

and so is this story.

But I’ve also figured out

that it’s worthwhile to share

it.

Beacuse the ones who truly

love me have a right to hear it.

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Reflections on a Teenage Affair with my Adult Sports Coach

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A Letter To My teenage Self About Sex