A Rape Poem By Greta L.
Rape.
Its such a dirty word.
Rape.
Its such a dirty thing.
Rape.
At school I hear rape jokes, bulimia jokes, suicide jokes.
They have turned serious things into Knock-knock jokes.
No wonder we just pick up our skirts and run. No wonder we tell no one.
But when we finally get up the courage to tell, they dismiss our pain.
Pain is perfect misery.
They ask the questions that shouldn’t matter:
“Did he hit you?” “Did you even try?” “Well… what were you wearing?’
His trial should not be based on the length of my skirt.
I said no, he said yes. He used me like a toy and left me undressed.
I am not here just for your pleasure.
I want to make a difference in the world. Maybe one poem at a time.
The rape is the girls fault if she is the rapist.
It was not my fault he did not stop. It was not my fault I was not as strong. Its not my fault, I did nothing wrong.
Did you know that 44% of all rape victims are under 18? or out of 1000 rapes, 994 rapists won’t see a single day of prison.
I’m sorry they did this to you, but you can do better. We can do better. We can make this world beautiful.
